


Eternal Night

by Wenzel



Series: Between Shadows and Light [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, it's the recovery phase guys!!, the comfort after the hurt, with bonus galactic warfare and eldritch abominations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-17 12:37:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 98,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13659147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wenzel/pseuds/Wenzel
Summary: Keith's free from the Galra, or so he likes to think. Back with Voltron, he finds that his actions while a captive have far greater ramifications than he ever could have planned. The war is no longer just about Zarkon's Empire: it's about the hungry forces coming from another reality, and Voltron might not be enough to stop them.(Third and final arc of Between Shadows and Light.)





	1. Chapter 1

Shiro breathed in stale recycled air. Cold as a winter’s breeze, it numbed his flesh and sent shivers down his spine. The heating system had gone out. The crystals they’d taken from the Balmera so long ago were running low. 

“If we gave them time,” Coran said, “I might be able to rig them to recharge. But if we keep pushing, Princess--”

“We keep pushing,” she’d said firmly. Light-years vanished beneath their feet. “So long as the engines can run.”

Ten minutes later, the lights started to flicker. Hunk’s cursing came up through the communications systems as a mutter. Pidge perched on a seat near Shiro, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she worked with Coran to keep the software going. Lance paced near the helmsroom’s entrance.

“This is a bad idea,” Lance said.

Shiro focused on ignoring him. His own hands fluttered over the sub-systems. Allura directed the Castle with a skilled hand, but not even she could do two people’s roles at once. Large rocks were repelled; the scanner that the Castle ran filtered through rubble and passenger ships, hunting for military cruisers. Far in the distance, almost an entire system away, a group had formed and dogged their heels.

But nothing was as fast as the Castle when its entire crystal devoted itself to more and more speed. Allura grit her teeth, her hands twitching and sending the Castle ducking between asteroids. The g-force dampeners kept them from being flung around. Shiro worried, though, that they might be one of the things to give.

Hunk let out a sharp curse. “The lights are out,” he croaked. “Pidge, can you get them back online? I don’t know what I can do without them.” He grunted. “The robots are already walking on my feet.”

“Huddle up, big guy,” Lance said into the microphone. “The colourful graphs are all small and red. There should be a flashlight down there. I left one on the tool table.”

Shiro preferred to ignore the clangs and bangs and Hunk’s uncomfortable groans. “I’m here!” More bangs. “Stop walking, all off you!”

A blazing white dot appeared on the radar. It was faster than the cruisers--almost faster than the Castle. It wasn’t aimed perfectly at the Castle, but instead followed an intersecting path. Shiro frowned before he tossed it up on the screen.

“Bogey incoming,” he said. Everyone’s attention snapped to the screen. “It’s moving faster than anything else chasing us.”

Coran unfolded from the chair and sprung to the screen. His mustache endured an assault. “Not close enough for the view-glass. Should be in a minute, though!”

By the time a minute passed, it’d be right in front of them. “Evasive maneuvers?” he asked Allura.

Her shimmering blue eyes squinted at the dot. “Hail it.”

It felt unwise. It’d distract them from Gal. But maybe his worry over Keith blinded him: if there was an ally in the ship, they’d have to busy themselves with the person, and that’d delay getting Keith back. Stop complaining, he told himself, and open the communication line.

The frequency was not Galran. That struck him as odder than the ship’s speed. Things became stranger when the ship answered the hail. No video appeared. What came through was a familiar voice.

“This is Keith Kogane, Red Paladin,” Keith said.  _ Keith _ , who should have still been a prisoner. Who should have been on Gal. Shiro’s heart leapt up through his throat. His brain froze in panic as his eyes scanned the room.

Lance’s jaw hung open. Allura had almost crumpled, while Coran and Pidge stared at the screen. On the other end of the communications with Hunk, Hunk’s voice came demanding to know what was going on, and  _ please, guys, give me back the lights _ \--

“Hello?” Keith’s ghost asked.

Shiro stumbled forward. “I’m here, Keith.”

Silence. “I wasn’t sure I’d hear you again.”

“Likewise,” Shiro murmured. “You’re in Red?”

“She’s with me, yeah.” A deep breath. “Things are… I don’t know how much you guys know. But I’m not in a human form right now.”

Shiro’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that--” Hesitation, silence, then Keith spoke, his voice soft and almost cracking. “I’m a Galra right now. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Lance demanded. He stormed to the front, right into range of the microphones. “What the hell are you talking about, mullet? You don’t just change form. You’re not Keith, are you? This is some spy since to bait us out, Shiro.”

“Shut up,” Keith snapped. Lance reared back, his eyes wide. “I didn’t kill the Voice and get off Gal to have people call me a spy. If you need proof, fine. Shiro, your favourite drink is melon Cheerio, even if you told people you loved aojiru. You  _ hate _ aojiru, but your mom swears by it.”

“Uh,” Pidge said.

Shiro pursed his lips. There was literally no reason for the Galra to have dug up that information. It meant nothing. Oh, it was a personal tidbit that he kept secret, but why not talk about his family? Or about his training? Talking about his mother’s love of aojiru and her potentially dead taste-buds was… it was enough.

“It’s him,” Shiro said to the room.

Lance shook his head again. “Because he talked a bit about ayoh--aojeeroo? They could have taken that information from him.”  _ Or you _ , but that went unsaid. “They’ve done it before! Remember the Klaxi from Dubu-9?”

Was it Keith, or did Shiro want it to be Keith? The answer was simple: why not both? “I’m opening the Castle doors,” he told Keith. “Try not to scratch anything on your way in.”

Keith laughed. It was ragged and exhausted, but it was still Keith’s. “I’ll leave it clean.” He breathed a sigh. “I have two passengers--both are rebels against the Empire. They’re here temporarily. I have the, uh, location of the rebels’ main base too.”

_ How? _ He’d even said he’d killed the Voice. It was like a dream come true. Allura stared at the screen like God themself had spoken through the speakers. Behind Shiro, Lance paced, muttering and cursing to himself. Shiro tried to choke back the guilt. Lance had a point. If it was a ruse by the Empire, it was a perfect ruse to trap Shiro. But Shiro couldn’t find it in himself to just turn the Lion away.

“I’ll meet you in the hangar.” Shiro reached for the screen. His Altean had improved alongside Pidge’s, but it still took some pauses and pursed lips to set up the series of commands. Allura watched him. Her approval came in the form of murmured corrections.

“This is still stupid,” Lance said. His pacing had ended. He closed the transmission line and spun to face down Shiro. “We don’t know if it’s him. For all we know, they’re faking his voice, or they raided his memory. And he’s bringing other people with him? Who the hell are they? They could be armed soldiers--assassins!”

Shiro grappled for patience. “Lance--”

“No,” was the simple reply. “You need to listen. You want Keith back, but it’s clouding your judgement. We need to demand  _ proof _ .”

“And Red isn’t proof?” Shiro demanded. “She’d never take on a new Paladin. She waited ten thousand  _ years _ for someone like Keith. Are you saying she’d leave him for--what? A clone? Android?”

Lance shrunk back, shoulders hunching. “... I don’t know. I’m just saying we need to be careful. All it takes is one mistake to end this, right?”

Wariness plagued Pidge’s eyes. “He’s got a point.”

Breathe. Relax. Patience. _ Focus _ . “We’ll quarantine him,” Shiro said. Lance perked up a bit. “They’ll board because even if it isn’t Keith, we need the Red Lion away from the Galra. We can put a laser grid around it until we see Keith.”

“Keith in his ‘new form’,” Lance said with air quotes. “You can’t just change form like that!” Allura blinked at him, as did Coran. Lance paused. “... Not if you’re human, I mean. And Mullet is human. He grew up on Earth.”

“Well,” Coran interjected, “the Galra were known for strange magics, even in our time, and we’ve seen the Druids at work, haven’t we?” Coran shrugged. “Maybe they experimented. I’ve heard the Galra have right awful stories about changing forms--”

“Anyway!” Lance strode to the door. “He’s probably an android. I know I’m bringing my bayard down. You all should too.”

Shiro strangled the urge to rub his eyes with his alms. Lance’s attitude had sharpened in the stressful crawl to Gal. Worse, he seemed to have decided to resent Keith  _ more _ for being captured. Shiro didn’t know the reasons: no one really did, except for Hunk. Was it something about Keith being the centre of attention? Did he think Keith was weak, and the rest of the team had to carry his dead weight? Or was it that Lance felt like he was stuck when he wanted to go home?

Shiro had tried to talk to him about it. Lance admired him, even after a year of orders. All he’d ever got were helpless shrugs and ‘y’knows’ that told him nothing. Hunk had been reluctant to break his silence. The most he gave Shiro was that Lance had a lot of emotions about what was happening, and he seemed torn.

Keith was going to take the brunt of the displeasure, Shiro knew. It was the last thing he’d need after so long with the Galra, but Lance felt lost. Dull frustration filled him, as impotent as it’d ever been in the past year. There wasn’t a way to stop what was going to happen. If it wasn’t Keith, Lance would be relieved and annoyed; if it was Keith, he’d be just as relieved and annoyed. Not just at what they’d been put through for Keith’s sake, but because Keith had, once again, made him be wrong.

“Hunk,” Shiro asked, “is it possible for you to go to the hangar?”

Hunk sighed, sharp and loud. “If we drop from this speed, sure, I can probably rig something to keep it from falling apart. But I’m going to need light either way, guys.” A bang and then cursing. “Seriously, can I get it? Just a little bit of power. Then I can stop breaking my toes on table legs.”

Pidge cut off the cooling in non-essential areas. Shiro didn’t know what non-essential meant, but it gave Hunk lights again, and if the halls were warm, well. The entire Castle was falling apart. What was one more thing?

He wore his armour. Its internal cooling system didn’t stop the sweat from tickling down his back. Anxiety, the kind of anxiety that reminded him of nights before arena matches, plagued him. It clamped down on his chest, squeezing his lungs and pressing against his thundering heart.  _ Something was wrong _ , anxiety whispered.  _ Everything is wrong. Keith shouldn’t have been able to come back. You don’t even know how you escaped. _

Keith had got out, though. He’d even managed to kill the Voice and find rebels. How? Had the rebels worked with him, or had Keith found them? Did the rebels have anything to do with how Shiro had escaped? There were so many questions and so few answers.

One was bigger than the rest, though. What would he do if Keith was an android or clone? Galran technology was far beyond anything humans could manage. It was possible they’d sent a decoy, even if his gut insisted that the person on the other end of the transmissions had been Keith. 

Lance was right, in a way. Aojiru and melon Cheerio weren’t state secrets. They were just pieces of unusual information, stuff that nobody but his closest friends knew. At the Garrison, he’d felt like he had an image to maintain--one as the top pilot, as a star graduate, as the cool TA who looked like he bench-pressed first years. Inevitably, someone asked what he ate and what his routine was.

‘Mac and cheese, melon Cheerio, pizza, and fried chicken’ weren’t the answers people were looking for. So he told them health drinks, protein shakes, and a more low-key version of his daily workout. It’d balance out, right?

_ You’re delaying _ , his mind said.  _ Go see Keith _ . 

But Keith… wasn’t going to be Keith. It wasn’t going to the flint-eyed willowy man he knew. Keith was a year older, and far worse--he said he was in a Galran form. How, why, when: Shiro didn’t know any of that. What was he going to do when a Galra Keith stepped from the Red Lion? What was he going to do when he saw a funhouse reflection of his worst fears about himself?

Fear. There was chilly fear that flooded his gut. His hind-brain offered wariness. A dull hope sprung from his heart, but his heart didn’t know anything. It just knew it wanted Keith--for what, he didn’t dare think. They were friends, yes, and Keith knew him better than anyone else on the Castle or on Earth.

But that familiarity wouldn’t matter when he saw Keith. Glowing gold eyes, fur, claws, even an animalistic face… His nightmares featured those far beyond anything else. 

_ Not Keith _ , he told himself firmly. Keith was different. He wouldn’t have nightmares about Keith, just like he didn’t have nightmares about his mother. Keith was--family, not anything else. A friend. Someone close to him, someone irreplaceable. Terms didn’t matter.

He stepped out of the elevator with Pidge in his ear. “T-minus one dobosh. I’d calm Lance down while you can.”

“The grid--?”

“Hunk’s working on it.” Her fingers danced over the keys, almost drowning out her voice. “Someone’s going to have to warn Keith--or whoever it is in that ship. If it is Keith, he’s not gonna be happy.”

Shiro suspected it’d be the least of his problems. “Have Coran do it. I’m in the hangar now.” Guilt followed--he shouldn’t be shifting responsibility to Coran for this--but standing in the hangar, within earshot of Lance, and explaining to Keith that he’d be caged for their reunion would be cruel.

Lance stood in the centre of the hangar, surrounded by four of five Lions. His arms were crossed over his blue and white armour. He stared out through the hangar windows, though there was nothing to see but black dashed with white streaks.

“If you’re going to tell me to be friendly, you’ve got another thing coming.” Lance didn’t look at him as he spoke. Shiro watched, silent, as Lance continued. “We should take him out for being gone so long. We don’t know what shape he’s in. And what will the rest of the universe think about being saved by a Galra? If it  _ is _ him.”

“That’s not how being a Paladin works, Lance.”

Lance laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “It can work however we want it to work. We’re the first in ten thousand years, and I’d say that’s a new start. Let him cool his heels. He can wait on the Castle while we fight.”

_ Don’t replace me with him. _ Shiro didn’t need Lance to say it when he broadcasted it in his slumped shoulders and angry words. “I understand you’re upset, but the universe needs to come first. Keith was captured and, yes, he escaped, but it took time. He didn’t mean to put us through anything--”

“We’ve been waiting for him for a  _ year _ , Shiro. A year! Not a word from him. Just news that he was wandering Central Command and talking to Zarkon.” Lance turned around, his blue eyes fierce. “If they turned him into a Galra, well, he already was one.”

Shiro refused to get angry. It was what Lance wanted. If Shiro got angry, it’d feed into the belief that Shiro thought Keith special--worth far more than any of the other Paladins. So instead, he chose patience. Infinite patience derived from the knowledge that anger would only satisfy Lance.

“He says he killed the Voice. If that’s true, I think he’s made it clear he’s not with the Galra.” He stepped closer; Lance didn’t pull away as Shiro reached out with his hand. “I know you’re angry and tired. I am too. But we can’t take it out on Keith.” Lance opened his mouth to speak, but Shiro pushed on. “I was with the Galra for a year, Lance.”

Lance blinked. “So what?”

“I didn’t go through the same things Keith did, and he didn’t go through the same things I did.” For which Shiro felt only relief for the both of them. “I can tell you, though, that he wanted out. Every second, every minute, he wanted to escape. It’s that there hadn’t been an opportunity yet--just like there hadn’t been for me. When we both got out, I promise you it was our first chance to.”

“... I hope you’re right.” Lance slumped again. “I didn’t want any of this. I want to be  _ home _ . I didn’t think it’d last so long.”

Lance, like Hunk and Pidge, had probably had an idea that it’d be quick. They’d take out Zarkon in a month with their special robots, romance an alien or two, find Pidge’s family, and then be back on Earth as heroes. Maybe they’d even become intergalactic heroes--called upon every few months to rescue one nation or another. It wouldn’t demand for them to abandon Earth and those they’d known.

War wasn’t like that, though. One problem was solved, and four more took its place. Liberating a single planet had ramifications for decades. Some places never recovered: they just fell under the sway of another tyrant, one who offered stability and a chance for food. Shiro knew the politics. He’d worked in piloting, both as a fighter pilot and as a scientific explorer, but all it took was a look at history. Allura knew the war would last a long while--she’d had training--and Coran was wise enough to realize it, but someone like Pidge thought only of finding her family while Lance dreamed of a life as an action hero. Hunk seemed to suspect the reality; he hadn’t mentioned his family in months. But he still struggled to understand the depth of their task.

Keith probably understood now, if he hadn’t already. Back at the Garrison, when they’d started to talk about things other than piloting, Shiro had been startled by the breadth of Keith’s knowledge. Most Garrison cadets came in as savants: basic tasks escaped them, while they could hold conversations for hours on the minutiae of quantum chromodynamics or loop quantum gravity. Shiro had known one cadet who could barely operate a washing machine, yet had been recruited post-grad to work in a lab with a particle collider.

Keith understood things on an intuitive level. Not just piloting, but logic, history, even sociology--he was stupidly well-read, like he’d come out of the womb clutching a book. Shiro knew it tied back to a childhood with very little but a library card, but he still admired it. Hell, by times he envied it. His own childhood had been dominated by science fairs, training camps, and cram school.

There hadn’t been time for books that didn’t serve an immediate purpose. Had it been self-inflicted? Largely. His parents had wanted the best for him, and he’d been ambitious enough to make sacrifices.

Lance understood it now. The gravity of that knowledge hurt Lance, and Shiro didn’t know how to help. What he could offer was simple platitudes. What did he say to make Lance feel better?   


“With Keith back,” Shiro said, “this ends sooner. Look at it like that. The Voice is dead and we can form Voltron. It’s just a matter of getting at Zarkon now.”

Lance’s shoulders lifted. “... I’m not going to hug him.” Shiro raised a brow. “I think he has a lot of apologizing to do for how he acted on Central Command. I know I wouldn’t have been so comfortable there. But you’re right. He’s back, and this is closer to ending.” Lance’s head tilted to look at the Blue Lion. “He better be able to keep up still.”

Shiro decided that was good enough. Lance had a right to be frustrated. Knowing Keith, he’d accept Lance’s treatment as annoying but inevitable, and things could continue as they’d once been. It didn’t make Shiro feel better. As the hangar doors slid open, Shiro turned to watch the Red Lion sail in, its red a brilliant crimson. Its gold eyes reminded him of quintessence and sunsets.

The Red Lion didn’t power up an attack. It didn’t lunge for the other Lions. The forcefield it entered through didn’t signal an alarm for detecting other unannounced cargo. The Lion landed with a thump. Within a second, blue beams took form around it. The cage shimmered under the harsh hangar lights. 

The Red Lion crouched down, ignoring the lasers. Its mouth dropped open. Inside, shadows moved. “Keith?” Shiro called out, his legs breaking into a sprint. It carried him to the bars without him thinking. “Keith!”

Three figures, two flanking a single small one, walked from the Lion’s lit interior. The lights turned them into dark shapes whose armour made them sleek. The small one raised a hand in a weak wave. When they entered the hangar lights, Shiro’s breathing hitched.

Keith’s long legs had changed to something twisted. A mask covered his face, but Shiro stared at the claws covered by gloves. A hood hid the inevitable ears. There was no tail, but Shiro didn’t find it comforting. He focused on keeping his breathing even and dragged up a smile.

“Keith,” Shiro said from the other side. “Is it you?” Lance tensed behind him, expecting an attack.

Keith reached up and turned off the mask. Shiro’s heart stopped. Thick dark fur covered a face he knew as well as his own. The long, elegant nose now ended in a cat-like tip, while Keith’s lips were a deep purple and still generous, yet when they parted, Shiro saw sharp teeth. The ears were large and coated in heavy fur, like it could fend off cold. Shiro watched them flatten, screaming fear.

“Shiro,” Keith said. “... I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”

Terror shrieked in the back of Shiro’s mind. That was a  _ Galra _ , his mind said. That was an enemy. He should run for it. He should lash out. But that was Keith, he thought. Keith who’d still remembered he loved melon Cheerio. The Keith he’d taught how to use a semicolon properly and when the best cafeteria specials were, and who’d taught him how to throw a knife.

That was Keith--in a different form, yes, but still Keith. His shoulders slumped. The fear inside him could howl for the rest of time, but it wouldn’t ruin this. Keith was  _ back _ . 

“Hunk,” he said over the line, “kill the lasers.”

“What?” Lance hissed

“Uh,” Hunk said, “is that the best idea? I mean, I just set them up--”

“Do it.” Shiro’s voice was final. 

The lasers went down. Shiro lunged over the lines and collided with Keith. His arms wrapped around Keith who stiffened. Warm fur pressed against his cheek. Ears twitched. Keith’s armed grasped his middle, and Keith buried his face into Shiro’s shoulder. His warm breaths puffed into Shiro, whose heart clenched.

“I’m sorry,” Keith said, too quiet for anyone but Shiro to hear.

“You don’t have to be,” Shiro replied. Not for being captured, not for changing, not for anything, he thought. “You came back.”


	2. Chapter 2

Keith pulled away. The smile on his face looked strange with his cat-like nose. A voice inside Shiro quavered at the sight, terrified, but Shiro forced it back. Keith let go of Shiro--had he noticed something in Shiro’s face?--before he motioned to the two rebels on either side of him. “Regris,” he said before he nodded at the other. “Ulaz.” His smile faltered. “... We have a lot to tell you guys.” 

Shiro’s heart sunk. It wasn’t going to be all good, then. He should have known that. A traitorous thought wondered if part of the news concerned Keith’s form. How had it happened? Was he stuck like that?

Keith’s eyes were still his own, though. They were a flinty purple with no unearthly golden glow. Shiro didn’t know why, but that’s what was important. Keith wasn’t a monster. He was  _ Keith _ . Shiro offered a small smile in place of Keith’s faltering one.

“We can go to the bridge,” Shiro said; “they’re waiting for us there.”

Lance jerked forward. “We need to check for weapons.”

“I’m unarmed,” Keith said. He looked to the rebels--Ulaz and Regris, he’d said. “Do either of you guys have anything?”

Keith didn’t even bother to get annoyed or snap at Lance. It was a patience Shiro had very rarely seen from Keith. Lance seemed to notice: confusion flickered over his expression, before it settled to something mutinous. Regris’ offering of a blade placated him, at least.

Over the lines, the others were trying to talk to Shiro. “So, uh,” Hunk was saying, “you guys alive? Or should I have not cut the lasers?” “Shiro,” Pidge said, “what’s happening?” “Should I close off the hangar?” Allura asked.

“We’re fine,” Shiro said, cutting through the frantic voices. Silence greeted him now over the line. “Keith is… Keith. We’re checking the other rebels.” He said that only for Lance’s benefit: Lance prowled over to the rebels, but he didn’t know how to do a pat down, and all the rebels did in reply was lift their arms, ready for a pat down that didn’t come.

Lance retreated, after a moment, in defeat. His eyes were still cagey, but there wasn’t anything he could do. Shiro reached out a hand to Keith who came close. His fur glittered like stars under the hangar lights. It occurred to Shiro that Keith didn’t look like  _ them _ . Keith was slender, fluffy, and strikingly still like his human form. He didn’t look like Sendak or any of the arena Galra. He didn’t look like Zarkon or Haggar.

Even through the suit Keith wore, Shiro saw the lines of what his body had once been. The legs were a lost cause, but his arms were elegant, ropy with muscle, and the planes of his face couldn’t be hidden by the fur. His hair was long now, but was that a choice or forced on him? Shiro didn’t imagine Zarkon would have ordered Keith’s hair cut at any time. Putting Keith in proximity to blades was asking for someone to be stabbed.

Shiro didn’t want to bring Keith to the bridge. It wasn’t anything against the others. They had good hearts and strong minds. But Keith was in a Galran form. How upset would that make Allura? It was one thing to know in abstract, but a whole other thing to be face to face. Keith returning with the Red Lion would make things better, he told himself. Whatever wariness or distress Keith’s form and past year caused, it was better that they had Red.

It was good for Shiro’s heart that they had Keith.

He muted his suit’s communication system. “Are you ready for this?” he asked gently. “I don’t know how they’ll react.”

Keith’s ears flattened. Shiro refused to stare, but it came as a near thing. “I’m not,” Keith admitted. “But it’s better we do it now than later. It’s not like we can go anywhere.”

It was surprisingly talkative for Keith: while he could talk for hours with Shiro in private, he rarely said much around others. Most importantly, Lance was six feet away, glowering. Even their soft voices were probably audible, though Lance had the respect not to say anything.

The rebels watched. “They can’t come,” Lance announced. “We’ve got to talk to the others about… Keith.” He didn’t hide his disgust at Keith’s form. Shiro wagered it was at least half feigned, possibly to cover fear. “They don’t need more Galra.”

Keith’s expression flattened along with his ears. “You’re right,” Keith said. Shiro startled again. “I’m sorry, Regris, Ulaz. I think they need to adjust to me before we can talk about regrouping with the other Blades.” He looked up at the Red Lion who loomed above. “... I’m sorry.”

“No apologies needed, Paladin.” Shiro thought it was Ulaz speaking. “It shows your people have caution. Where should we wait?”

The answer turned out to be a side room near the hangar. The vents were too high to climb to, and the walls too spaced for anyone to try besides. There were chairs screwed down into tile and metal. The two Galra perched on them, facing one another. Lance bossed them about and kept shooting them suspicious looks, but it washed over them. Neither seemed surprised or bothered by Lance’s tone. It occurred to Shiro why as he led Keith up through the Castle.

The Galra were used to being on top. Ulaz and Regris had no insecurities about their people, despite what the Empire had done. If they felt anything about how they were treated, it was either concealed contempt or apathy. Anyone else, raised outside the echo chamber that was the Empire, might have been hurt for being treated like a rat or traitor. To the two Galra, though, there was no crack in their armour.

Shiro didn’t think any of the Paladins could claim such a reaction. They all had weaknesses for exploitation. His hand rested on Keith’s warm shoulder, and he wondered what they’d used against Keith.

The elevator up pushed Lance into close quarters with Keith. Lance stiffened. Keith angled himself toward Shiro, but it wouldn’t stop things from escalating. Shiro breathed deep and prepared to intervene.

“I heard what you did on Central Command,” Lance said.

Keith froze. It was the most reaction he’d given to Lance. “What did I do?”

Lance glared. “You pranced around with Galra like you were their  _ friend _ . We have video, Mullet. And messages from Galra.”

“Then you’d know,” Keith said, “that I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Did you?” Lance leaned in. Keith refused to lean back. “There’s smiling for the camera, and then there’s eating with your friends in the cafeteria.”

Keith said nothing. There really wasn’t anything he could say back. Shiro had seen the messages too: younger officers, less conscious of secrecy protocols, had sent messages and pictures home to their family on Gal and distant colonies. Keith would be sitting in a group of a half dozen Galra, a tray of food in front of them.

Sometimes, he’d even be smiling. Shiro hadn’t known what to make of it. He knew that, with how long Keith had been at Central Command, it was inevitable that Keith would bond with at least one Galra. They weren’t torturing him in any conventional way. They seemed intent on destroying him piece by piece, moment by moment. It wasn’t what Shiro had endured, but couldn’t it be just as destructive in a way? 

It’d caused problems on the Castle to see the images. Nobody had been comfortable. Lance had been furious. Allura had ended the discussion by leaving the bridge. Keith’s return would only exacerbate things, and Shiro knew that if he defended Keith, it would only make things worse. The others had seen him defend Keith again and again; their faith had eroded in him, and he knew Lance muttered about favouritism. 

When the elevator stopped and the door opened, everyone was at the bridge, including Hunk. The space around them had changed: Shiro suspected they’d taken a final wormhole out, throwing them far from the chase. Here, in the quiet of space, Voltron would either be forged again, or fall apart.

“Hey, Keith,” Hunk said, and Shiro could have cheered. It was hesitant, but it came with a half-wave. “You’re… furry.”

Keith slunk into the bridge. His expression stayed frozen on a grimace. “Things sort of happened.”

“Happened?” Lance echoed. Shiro gave him a sharp look, and Lance looked away, saying nothing more. It gave Shiro a chance to look over the expressions of the others.

Hunk seemed uneasy, but he was watching at Keith. Pidge’s gaze was clinical, a contrast to Coran’s resignation and faint sorrow. Allura, though. Allura looked  _ crushed _ . Her vibrant skin had greyed, and her hands were fists at her sides. Her breathing hitched when Keith looked at her. She said nothing; Keith stopped a distance away.

“I’m sorry,” Keith said. No one spoke. “I wasn’t sure I’d make it back but---but I’m glad I’m here.” His gaze drifted over the assembled. Shiro stopped by his side, while Lance went to join the others. The lines were drawn then, Shiro thought.

“You said the Voice is dead,” Pidge interjected. “What did you mean by that? We weren’t even sure how to kill it.”

“You’d have to ask the Blades for the exact details--” and here, Lance snorted-- “but I distracted the Voice using Druidic techniques while they finished it off.” Keith’s hands clenched and unclenched, as though a ferocious energy crashed through him. “We coordinated an invasion of where the Voice was held--she died during the full-scale attack from the rebels.”

“How?” Lance asked. The stark word landed like a brick against glass. It wasn’t aggressive, it wasn’t snide, but it was blunt.  _ How did you escape? How did you fight back? Where have you been when we thought you might be dead on Central Command? _

Keith breathed deep. “I was--” He shook his head. His hands were tight fists. Agony radiated from him, and Shiro wished he could rescue Keith from this. But if he did, it’d only make things worse. It wouldn’t just be about favouritism: it’d be about hiding the truth and hurting the cause.

Finally, Keith spoke. “I was turned into a Galra on Central Command. There was an attack from religious extremists on there, and when I was severely injured, Galran Druids attempted to heal me. It--My mother was a Galra. As was my father.”

The bridge exploded into cries and gasps. “Are you serious?” Hunk asked again and again. Pidge was ashen. Allura took a step back, face twisted in horror. Lance just shook his head.

Only Shiro and Coran did nothing. There was… Shiro couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised. People didn’t just change forms. But if Keith was a Galra, he would have always been meant to be in that form. How had he ended up on Earth? How had he been in a human form for so long?

“Enough!” he called out. It took two calls for the bridge to calm. “Let him finish.” He leaned in to Keith, pressing his shoulder against Keith’s. “What happened when they tried to heal you?”

“My body changed,” Keith said. “It was--it hurt.” His dark fur didn’t hide how haggard he felt. “I couldn’t stay on Central Command. They brought me to Gal as ‘Caith of the Blackmouths’. I was supposed to be a diplomat, but I was a prisoner.” He flinched, though nobody had said a word. “The Blades--the rebels--reached out to me as a potential ally. We worked together to sabotage events. I stole things for them, and did… assassinations.”

Lance’s jaw dropped. “You? An  _ assassin _ ?”

Keith winced and shrugged. “It was only one.” He paused, his brow furrowing. What other deaths were he calculating? He seemed to dismiss them. “My cover got blown eventually, so I had to run for it. That was a few days ago. We’re--we’re here now.”

“Who are the Blades?” It was Coran who asked. His voice was soft, though he was near Allura, a hand on her shoulder. “They helped kill the Voice, but I think we all need a bit more than that.”

Keith breathed again, as though collecting himself. “They’re a group of Galra who’ve been operating for years to fight Zarkon. They’re embedded all over the place: in the military, in the government, even as normal people. They found out that the Voice was feeding on the universe and the Galra, so they started to fight back as they could. They even have Galran weapons--”

“Who’s their leader?” Allura cut in. Her voice shook under strain.

Keith’s hands fisted at his sides. Was it frustration at them, himself, or the Blades? “I don’t know his name, but he’s waiting for us at their base outside of Gal. He was at the battle where we killed the Voice.”

“You don’t even know his  _ name _ ?” Lance demanded, visibly appalled.

Keith shook his head, but it was Allura who spoke. “It would be… the smart thing to do in this. If this leader means well or not. His name could be used against him if Keith was captured--or any of his Blades were.” Allura sighed. “I don’t trust him, but it shows some sense. But there’s something more pressing, Keith. How are you a Galra? You lived on Earth.”

Hope lingered in her voice, as though this could all be a lie or a trick. Shiro brushed his hand against Keith’s arm.  _ I’m here _ , he tried to say. No matter what, he was there for Keith. Keith glanced at him with a half smile before he looked at the group. Shiro imagined Keith’s heart thundering in his chest. He wished he could hold Keith’’s shoulder, but the others might take that as playing favourites.

“My father was--is--a soldier,” Keith said. “And my mother was a Druid. When she got pregnant, she couldn’t… abort the child without the Empire finding out. I don’t know why she didn’t use an illegal service or just--do it herself.” His voice shook, and Shiro wrapped his hand around Keith’s forearm.  _ You’re all right _ , he wanted to say.  _ Everything is going to be all right _ . 

“She ended up fleeing to Earth. I don’t know why. But she landed there, gave birth to me, and with the remnants of her power, she changed me into a human form.” 

Nobody knew what to say to that. Not even Shiro. Keith’s mother had died miserably, and Keith had lived for two decades unaware of what had happened. Of where he was from. Shiro had offered stories about Japan, the Shiroganes, and Fukuoka, thinking it might fill a void, but he’d always known it wouldn’t be the same as having a family.

Well, Keith had a family now. One that was dead and miserable. Shiro gave into the impulse that’d been dogging him through the conversation: he pulled Keith into him and wrapped his arms around Keith. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a few of the others startle, but Keith didn’t dare cry in front of anyone. He breathed into Shiro’s shoulder and both of them tried to ignore the faint hitches.

None of the others had the malice to interrupt. Keith didn’t elaborate on his family but continued. “It’s over now, though. The Voice is dead, and any relatives I have will hate me for it.” He shrugged as he pulled away from Shiro and looked out the windows, out into the vastness of space. “We have bigger problems.”

“Zarkon, yeah,” Lance said. “I say we go to Gal and fight him. They’ll be in chaos and--”

“What?” Keith snapped his head back to look at them. “Zarkon isn’t the problem now.” Allura and Coran seemed uneasy. Allura’s arms were crossed over her middle. Coran refused to meet Shiro’s gaze.

Pidge made a small sound of confusion. “What do you mean? He’s the one destroying the universe.”

Lance’s blue eyes narrowed. “Unless you’ve got  _ attached _ .” The threat in his voice set Shiro on edge. It couldn’t be that. Keith was smarter than to see Zarkon as anything but an enemy.

Keith gaped at them, genuine shock in his face. “You… Allura, Coran--you had to know. You lived it! And you didn’t tell them?”

“It--” Allura hunched, as though drained. “... I didn’t think it’d come so soon.”

“What?” Lance demanded. “What are you talking about?”

Hunk shifted from foot to foot, uneasy. “Uh, yeah, this isn’t sounding good, guys.”

Breathe, Shiro thought. His chest was tight and agonized. He should have known, whatever it was. “Allura. Tell us the truth.” He’d never thought he’d have to ask that.

Allura didn’t glare or pout or shy away from their gazes. Coran placed a single hand on her shoulder. He leaned in, murmuring something, but she shook her head. “Zarkon joined with the Voice,” she said, “because to protect universe from creatures from Outside.”

“Uh--”

“Princess,  _ what _ ?” 

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Shiro stepped away from Keith who’d slumped in on himself. He stopped in front of Allura. The frustration that’d been building inside him remained in a tight ball roiling in his stomach. Her fear was palpable, but things were done and over. Shiro rejected the frustration and anger inside him. There were bigger problems now.

He leaned in. “What do you mean outside, Allura?” He offered his hand. She didn’t take it, but her shuddering breaths eased. “I thought-- _ we _ thought--Zarkon took the Voice because of power. What was he protecting the universe from?”

“I’ve only seen them once,” Allura said. “Just once. They eat quintessence, and they harvest it in everything. Planets, people, stars… Voltron was made to stop them. But Zarkon thought the fight was pointless, so he took in an Outsider and made it defend the universe.”

Lance stared, betrayal on his face. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because I was afraid you’d be content with how things were,” Allura said, voice shaking. “Because Zarkon had supporters, even among my people, and it’s easier to not do anything than risk everything you know against a force that can’t be bargained with or talked to. Zarkon--Zarkon was the Black Paladin. He was meant to lead the fight. Instead, he destroyed us all.”

Zarkon was the Black Paladin. He’d betrayed everyone. The Voice had been a tool to protect the universe, and now it was dead. The only person who looked unaffected by the news was Keith.

Keith had known all of this, and he’d killed the Voice anyway.

“You should have told them,” Keith said quietly. Allura said nothing--wouldn’t even look at Keith. “They deserve to have made that choice.”

Keith had chosen for them. Shiro suspected Lance would have said it, but they were all dumbfounded. Had it been stupid to trust a stranger? They’d been around Allura for over a year, and Shiro had never suspected her of lies or hidden agendas. He’d assumed she was what she seemed: a kind princess with a strong heart. But there was something shadowy about what she’d done.

It was a lie--a lie of omission. It wasn’t lying about who’d broken a dish or who’d eaten Hunk’s cookies. It was a lie of such monumental proportions that Shiro struggled to comprehend it. Zarkon had destroyed Altea, enslaved the universe, and fed billions to the Voice’s maw. 

But he’d had a reason. It wasn’t mindless evil, it wasn’t cartoonish; it wasn’t the fury Shiro possesed vindicated. The Galra--the Imperial Galra--were supporters of a regime of misery. Shiro choked on hatred when he thought of the things they’d done, to the Holts, the universe, to Keith, and to him. He didn’t think it would change any time soon. But Shiro’s mind stumbled over the revelation.

There’d been a reason. Zarkon was a monster, but he was a monster with an explanation. He’d wanted to protect the universe from an invading, hungry forces--and to protect it, he’d become a monster. Allura and Coran feared their new Paladins would have that same impulse, the same willingness to sacrifice others and their moral compass to keep a dying universe going.

“The universe is dying,” Shiro said. His voice was so husky and low, he almost didn’t recognize it. “That’s what you said about what Zarkon was doing. That was true?” Could he even trust her answer?

Allura gave a sharp nod. Her chest fluttered as she caged in what she felt. “We compared the maps the Castle has to what we’ve found now. Over sixty percent of the planets and stars are missing.”

Shiro glanced at Keith who was rubbing his downy temples. “She’s right,” Keith said. Hunk visibly slumped. “He’s been cutting down the forest to feed the Voice’s fire, and there’s not much left. I know they’ve been trying to farm quintessence, but there hasn’t been any success.”

“So you made the choice,” Lance cut in. He didn’t sound angry--only tired. “You killed the Voice.” He swallowed, looking down at his feet. “... I’m glad I didn’t have to make that choice.”

When the fear passed, would he take Keith to task for making the war worse, thus keeping Lance away from his family for who knew how long? Shiro hoped not. “What’s done is done,” Shiro interjected. “Princess, I didn’t think I’d have to ask this, but no more secrets.  _ None _ . If we’re doing this, we’re doing this with full knowledge of what we’re doing. You should have told us about these creatures months ago.” His gaze turned on to Coran who looked grim yet resigned.  _ You too _ , Shiro thought.

He understood why they hadn’t said anything, which was the worst of it. The Paladins had almost broken apart once already, desperate to go home, back to their comfortable lives. Telling them that Zarkon was trying to protect the universe wouldn’t have made any of them like Zarkon--but it would have made the war harder to justify. If a single one of them refused to do their duty, Voltron couldn’t be formed.

Shiro had let Pidge leave once. He’d assumed she’d come back--that she’d realize her best chance to find her family was with Voltron. But could the team’s better angels have kept them together through the prospect of fighting the ‘Outsiders’? Shiro didn’t know. The thought unnerved him.

“What are the Outsiders like?” Hunk asked. “If we’re going to fight them, we need to know that.”

Allura and Keith shared a measured look. Keith cleared his voice and said, “I haven’t seen one other than the Voice but they’re--they’re possessive, hungry, even vicious. They need quintessence, or they wither. I don’t know what they are, though. I just know the Galra treated her like a god.”

“Zarkon’s work,” Allura said grimly. “They were no  _ gods _ when they came. They’d been breaking into our reality for thousands of years, but Voltron and other races were always there to fight back.”

“But we lost,” Keith interjected. “It cost something every time they came. That was why Zarkon worked with the Voice. He viewed a slow death as better than a swift one.”

Allura’s eyes drifted closed as she breathed deep. Was it anger at Keith, or past frustration at Zarkon? Or, and it struck Shiro as obvious now, was she struggling to see Keith through the Galra he’d become? “He saw a struggle as lost when we were creating technologies and strategies to protect ourselves. The decline wasn’t permanent. My father had discovered ways to manipulate quintessence as weapons.”

Keith straightened. “As bullets and lasers?”

“Yes,” Allura said, her face puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

“Because it’s the standard everywhere in the Empire’s armaments.” Keith rubbed his forefingers together by his waist. “I don’t know if they took your father’s research, but it at least means we have armaments that are promising.”

“We’re not working with the Empire,” Allura said flatly. Her eyes were sharp as her voice.

Keith shook his head. “I’m not saying we should. The Blades use Imperial technology, and it’s what most ships’ll have.” His eyes meet hers. “But I--I’m sorry for interrupting, Princess.”

She flinched back. She didn’t thank him or scold him. She continued on. “They’re masses of purest black; their size anywhere from a small ship to entire planets. They have no mind except for one of hunger.”

Shiro bit down the question about how Keith and Allura’s impressions differed. It’d only cause fighting. Pidge spoke this time. “How do they kill?”

“They swarm planets,” Allura said. Coran’s hand rested on her shoulder, and she leaned into the touch. “Wrapped in darkness, we never see the process itself. The little video we have always cuts out as the darkness reaches the planet itself. But when they leave, the planet is a husk. No bodies remain. Just rocks and empty lands.”

“It was contagious, though.” Everyone looked to Keith. “If you visited an infected planet, you’d carry it with you. It takes time for the infection to set in.”

“When it first started happening, yes,” Coran said. “They were--clouds, I suppose. Miasmas of darkness. They drifted in, and people didn’t know what they were. They touched planets, and by the end of the month, the planet was dead. In our time, it still happened with the smaller Outsiders. But the largest could kill in hours, and there was no way to save the people on the planet. To travel through the darkness meant instant death.”

“How--” Lance cut off, clearing his throat. “How many people died?”

“To measure it,” Allura replied, “would be impossible. In my lifetime, we lost billions. Entire systems were gone. When Zarkon turned, there’d been a string of losses and a battle that’d devastated the universe. But there was still  _ hope _ . We were learning more about the Outsiders, and there were new weapons coming. Zarkon refused to listen to us--whatever he’d seen in the Outsider he joined with, it’d maddened him.”

“And then he destroyed Altea.” Hunk sounded hollow. “And whoever else opposed him.”

Keith looked away. “... We need to go to the Blades’ base. They have Galran weapons, and I know they have thousands of operatives.”

“They helped kill the Voice,” Allura said, “but we don’t know if we can trust them. They’re  _ Galra _ .”

_ You’re Galra _ . It didn’t need to be said--it just needed to be implied. Shiro opened his mouth to defend Keith, but Keith pressed a hand against his back. Keith’s head turned back, and their eyes locked. Keith’s flat expression said it all.

He didn’t want to be defended. Was it because he worried it only make Allura more upset, or was it because he hated what he’d become too? Shiro focused on keeping his own expression neutral. Whatever happened, they needed to not fight. 

Keith straightened. “We need allies. We can’t do this alone. It was enough of a struggle the last time the universe fought, and we had more resources then. We both--we both agree that the Voice needed to die, and that means we both take responsibility for what happens after.” 

Shiro braced for anger, for Allura to snap at Keith, for the words to land like rocks on glass. But Allura looked at Keith--looked at him with new eyes. There was distaste around her lips and wariness in the curve of her cheeks, but she gave a single nod.

“You killed the Voice,” she said. “That… that means something.” Keith kept his eyes on her, though their gazes didn’t meet. “Thank you for that. But I’m not willing to risk us all by trusting an ally we don’t know. The last time Voltron trusted the Galra, we lost everything.”

Shiro decided it was time. “I don’t know everything about what happened,” he said. People looked at him, away from Keith and Allura. “Zarkon did terrible things to your people and the universe.” Should he say it? It was acknowledging something he didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone use. But Allura needed to be startled out of herself.

Shiro steadied himself with a hand pressed against Keith’s. “He did terrible things to  _ me _ .” The words sucked the air from the room. Hunk’s eyes were wide, while Pidge had frozen. Lance cringed back, as though he shouldn’t have mentioned it. But Allura--what Allura did next made the discomfort worth it.

Her eyes softened. Keith had been hurt by the Galra, but he was part of the enemy. Shiro wasn’t. Shiro was an innocent who’d been abused, tortured, and mutilated. He understood what it meant to lose everything.

Even if he still had Keith now, he knew loss like Allura and Coran. He’d felt it in the arena. It’d been burned into his skin by Galran scientists. Shiro could understand the hatred that pumped through her veins: it protected her from further hurt, but it also stopped her from healing.

Shiro swallowed sharply. “I know why you don’t trust them, Allura. But if the Outsiders are coming, we don’t have a choice. You don’t have to forgive them. You just have to tolerate them.”

Allura looked away. “... We might be able to do this alone.”

“We can’t,” Shiro said. “You know the power we have better than I do, and even I know we can’t. The Galra have done atrocities. But the Blades sound like they’ve turned on Zarkon, and they have some of the firepower from the Empire.”

Keith had said that, at least. Shiro hoped Keith’s impression was right. Keith didn’t nod or look at Allura. He kept his head turned away, a shocking display of social skill coming from Keith. Looking at Allura as the now-outsider would put her on the spot. It could be read as a challenge. And faced with everything--the reveal of her lie, one of her Paladins as a Galra, and being forced to face the prospect of Galran allies--she didn’t need to feel like she was being challenged. 

“I don’t trust them,” Lance said. His voice was like an ice pick in the conversation. Allura’s head jerked over to look at him. Hunk radiated unease. “The fleabags have a history of backstabbing people. They murdered the Alteans--”

“Not all of them,” Keith said quietly. Allura froze. Coran stared. “There’s a colony in space. I know it doesn’t make things better, but I have to say it. They’ve been working to protect other races from the quintessence harvests. I met one of their diplomats at the Palace.”

Allura’s voice shook when she spoke. “You’re telling the truth?”

“I wouldn’t lie about this.” Keith looked at her, right in the eye for the first time. Allura flinched, but she didn’t turn away. “His name was Shayan. I don’t know if the Blades work with the remaining Alteans, but they’d know where to find them.”

And that was the breaking point. Tears tracked down her cheeks. She didn’t sob, but her chest fluttered, as though she desperately tried to cage in the emotions she felt. Coran wrapped his arms around her, but his eyes were damp too. “Will they remember us?” Allura whispered. It was meant for Coran, but in the stark silence of the bridge, everyone heard.

Lance glared at Keith. Was it over petty crushes--Keith had made Allura cry, and Keith was bad for it--or was it a feeling that Keith had got one over the others and their concerns? To not go the Blades now meant denying Allura and Coran a reconnection with their people. Shiro wasn’t sure. 

What Shiro also wasn’t sure about was what  _ Keith _ had been thinking. Had he felt guilty for not saying anything, or had he used it to cut off debate? The former was the Keith he knew. The latter… the latter was someone he wasn’t sure he did.

Still, when Keith looked at him, Keith’s expression was hesitant, as though aware he’d maybe misstepped. Shiro placed a hand on his shoulder and gave Keith a solid nod. Lance said nothing, though he watched through conflicted blue eyes.

“Soooo,” Hunk said. “The Blades?”

“The Blades,” Shiro said. Allura nodded from where her head was buried into Coran’s shoulder. Shiro touched Keith’s shoulder and leaned in. “We need to talk.”

Keith’s expression turned blank. Shiro tried not to feel too unnerved. “Is my old room still empty?”

The thought that they could have ever filled it-- Shiro shook his head before he saw Keith’s face  fall. “Not like that,” Shiro said. “It’s empty. We’d never have put anyone in it.” He smiled, his brows still knit together in confusion and unease. “We talk first, then we can talk to the Blades about where to go. Okay?”

Keith swallowed, as though bracing himself for the conversation. What was he dreading so much? He was free, newly rescued, and back with friends. What mattered, though, was that  Keith followed as they walked from the bridge.

Shiro felt Lance’s eyes on his back as they left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be March 14th! In the meantime, find me at the-wenzel.tumblr.com, and I hope you all enjoy season five!
> 
> ETA: Update has been postponed to the 19th! Some real life stuff has got in the way. To keep updated on the chapter's progress, hit up my Tumblr!


	3. Chapter 3

It could have gone worse. That’s what he told himself. The truth--truthish--was out. Everyone knew about the Outsiders, about Zarkon, and the state of the universe. Allura might struggle to look him in the face, but that was frankly her right. The Galra had destroyed her planet, most of her people, and chased her across the universe.

If she didn’t bear any sort of ill-will to the Galra, Keith frankly would have been suspicious. 

He felt Shiro’s eyes on him. They made him feel warm--Shiro was genuine, and that meant Keith didn’t have to have walls up. He let his shoulders relax. Their boots clicked against the tile, the sound reminding him of them walking to training sessions before the botched rescue on Central Command. Shiro was agile for his size and certainly more muscular than Keith, but Keith had speed. Every evening, they’d walk together to the training facilities and spend the next hour working together.

It was… different. Different than his time with Hyladra. He knew the surface answer--he was well aware of his infatuation with Shiro--but there was something about it he still couldn’t name. In the absence of an answer, he tried to enjoy the quiet and Shiro’s warmth. He’d escaped Gal. Zarkon waited somewhere in space for him to return.

Keith still had chips in his eyes and hands, but he’d been given a scrambler until the chips could be removed surgically. Everything was… fine. Calm, gentle, and fine. Why, then, did his hindbrain panic?

He frowned down at his hands. His claws were sharp, his fingers furred, and the structure of his hands were more catlike than human. He was Keith still, but he wasn’t Keith. The thought stuck out like a rock on new asphalt. Not Caith, not Keirin, not Keith.

Nothing. Nothing, but Shiro still recognized him. Keith almost asked how, but wouldn’t that be annoying? Keith thought it’d be annoying, especially since Shiro wanted to talk to him about something. Probably the Galra. Maybe his family. Most definitely what had happened while Keith had been on his own. 

The questions would be normal. He wouldn’t have to evade them or distract. He’d already done that, though. Someone who wasn’t Lance had to have noticed his timing. Lance had been glaring at him as they left, which said he’d noticed and hated it, but Shiro didn’t seem angry. Maybe bemused, but not angry. Should Shiro be?

_ You’re talking in circles _ , Keith thought. He needed to stop if he was going to talk to Shiro honestly. The next…  _ forever _ would demand that he stop being weird. His mind was decided, but his instincts still wailed at him. To do what, they never said.

His room held nothing. He’d never decorated it, and he hadn’t left anything behind to store other than a single outfit. Who knew where that’d ended up in the past year? Still, Keith found a bit of comfort in walking into it. He didn’t own anything, not even the uniform he wore, but the room was his. He sat on the bed. It was as shitty as he remembered it being. Shiro took a seat beside him. Keith tried not to startle when Shiro’s Galra arm rested on his thigh. It wasn’t the metal that surprised him: it was the touch itself.

“How are you feeling?” Shiro asked.

Keith blinked. When was the last time someone had asked that and cared about the response? Keith shrugged at both questions. “Mostly tired. I feel--I feel like I’ve stirred up things.”

“You did,” Shiro said, “but we should have known the information a long while ago. I can understand in abstract why Allura and Coran said nothing, but I’m still frustrated. We deserved to know.”

“Shiro--”

Shiro shook his head. “No, this isn’t about me. This is about you. You’ve been gone a year, and you’ve been in constant danger.” HIs thumb pressed into Keith’s thigh. “I wish we could have come sooner. Did they--did they hurt you?”

What did he even say to that? He’d endured mutilations and almost-death to the point of regularity. Yet none of that had been done by Zarkon or those that were borderline friends--no,  _ were _ friends. He couldn’t lie to himself like that. 

Keith breathed once. The panic inside him wouldn’t help. He needed to push past it and focus on Shiro’s questions. “Some did,” he said. “It wasn’t--it wasn’t  _ simple _ .” Shiro watched him, expression calm. Keith clung to that as he spoke. “Some were friendly. I know they had motives to be, and I don’t know how to feel about that. Others saw me as an enemy, or someone to kill. Things… happened.”

“You don’t need to tell me the details.”

But if he didn’t tell Shiro, who would he talk to this about? Lance? Hunk? No, Shiro was the only person he trusted aboard the Castle. Coran and Allura had secrets. Lance hated him. Hunk and Pidge barely knew him--and he’d yelled at Pidge before. It was Shiro or the Blades, and he knew the Blades even less than he did the other Paladins.

“No, I need to say it.” He breathed again, searching for patience and the focus it brought. “There were terrorists and rebels and--just so many people who want the Empire dead, or me dead, or the universe dead.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s not as bad as what you went through, but I can sort of feel the scars.”

Shiro’s hand came to rest on his leg. “It doesn’t need to be worse to be bad.”

“I know,” he conceded. “But it just feels…  _ weird _ . From what Lance said, you saw some of my time on Central Command.” He sneaked a glance at Shiro, but his face remained calm. Guilt prickled at Keith’s insides. “I never stopped wanting to get out.”

“You don’t need to reassure me of that. You killed to escape, Keith, and that says more than any words.” Shiro reached up to tilt Keith’s face to him. “I brought us here because I wanted to give you time to put yourself back together. We haven’t given you the welcome you need or deserve.” His lips thinned, but his face, Keith thought, was soft and warm. “Especially Lance.”

Keith laughed; it came out as a faint huff. “I didn’t expect much from him, Shiro.”

“But you should have been able to expect more.” Shiro’s hand fell from Keith’s chin. “... I’m sorry I didn’t intervene. The team’s been--delicate, I think. Brittle like cold glass. If I’d said anything to him while you hadn’t gotten visibly angry, Lance and the others might perceive it as favouritism. It’s unfair to expect you to be patient and understanding after everything, I know, and I’m sorry for asking this of you. I feel like you deserve an explanation for what happened.”

How did Keith feel about it? He’d been through worse was the initial thought. Lance sending out barbs and bile was nothing compared to having his eyes gouged or bleeding out. Wrin had never liked him--had even more justification than Lance, and Keith had endured it all. People questioning his choices and motives wasn’t  _ new _ . It’d been happening since Zarkon let him out of his cage.

That didn’t mean he enjoyed it. He hated Lance’s behaviour, just as he had since he’d first truly encountered Lance. Lance imagined they’d been rivals who despised each other. The truth was that Keith couldn’t remember Lance’s face from his time at the Garrison, and he understood even less the man’s obsession with him. Keith hadn’t endured the insults perfectly. He’d snapped back and snarled. If he’d been smart, he’d have stonewalled Lance completely.

But Keith was human--human _ oid _ . He had limits. Lance pushed him to them every time they spoke. Keith liked to think he did decently enough, but it wasn’t fair that he had to be the one who was patient. Everyone expected him to just accept Lance’s aggression--everyone except for Shiro, except now Shiro wasn’t able to defend him without risking the team..

Fairness had never been much of a concept to Keith. Shit happened, and it mostly happened in his direction. Complaining to Shiro about Lance was pointless. Shiro was right: the team was delicate, and they’d almost broken up before over much less. Shiro stepping in to defend Keith when most of the team saw him as a Galra and potential collaborator would be an excellent way to destroy everything.

Besides, Keith wasn’t surprised at the hostility. He’d suspected Allura wouldn't react well--understandably--and Lance had always disliked him. Add in a year of stress and an inability to either go home or fight, and Lance had a right to be angry. He didn’t have a right to be an asshole, but then Lance hadn’t liked him before this.

Did the thoughts make him a martyr? Probably. He was resigning himself to being hated once again, just like he had on Central Command. It hadn’t got him anything good there. Why was he bothering now?

The answer had his hand on Keith’s leg. Shiro believed it was necessary, and Keith trusted Shiro’s judgement more than his own. If waiting for Lance to calm or wearing down his fury was what Shiro thought would work, Keith would do it. 

“It’s fine,” Keith said. The moment of silence had seemed to stretch for an eternity, and he wondered if Shiro sensed something was amiss. He swallowed and continued. “I know why you had to do that--you don’t need to worry I’m hurt or anything. Lance is… hard to deal with. I know that better than anyone else.” He placed his hand on Shiro’s. The metal felt cool through his fur. Shiro didn’t flinch. Keith tried not to feel too strengthened by that. “I trust your choices, Shiro. And I promise I won’t make things worse.”

Shiro laughed softly. “Coming back is already making things better, Keith. The problem was never you--for Lance, for Allura, for anyone else. You didn’t mean to be captured, and you got close to the Galra out of necessity.” He touched Keith’s hand, his thumb inspecting the fur. “And you didn’t know you were a Galra in the first place. You’re still Keith to me. You always will be, no matter what form you’re in. But nobody can blame you for being Galra because you never had a choice in the matter.”

Shiro didn’t know, though. He didn’t know about the time spent with Zarkon, or the fine meals he’d been treated to, or how he’d been pampered like a prince at the Palace. No one in Voltron knew what Caith had experienced. They knew pictures of him with cadets on Central Command, but that meant nothing. Shiro could dismiss it as him trying to find some form of human contact.

Keith doubted he could do the same for Keith’s private walks with Zarkon, or the little touches they’d shared. Had Keith wanted to be so adored? No. But he’d accepted it anyway. He hadn’t snarled at or shunned the others. How did he tell that to Shiro? The answer was simple. 

He couldn’t. Shiro thought Keith had endured his capture with the same ferocity Shiro had endured his own. Shiro expected after effects: PTSD, depression, anxiety. Keith had seen the symptoms in Shiro. But Keith hadn’t experienced the same things as Shiro, and he certainly hadn’t been as cruelly treated. 

Nobody could blame him for being a Galra, sure. They  _ could _ blame him for being so easily pacified. It’d taken him a year to accomplish anything that lashed out at the Galra, and most of it had been from the Blades’ influence. What did that mean, in the end? Did it make him a coward or a masochist determined to self-flagellate over things he might not be to blame for?

The thoughts gave him a headache. Shiro still waited for him to speak, but Keith didn’t know what to say. “Thank you,” he said. Shiro deserved thanks for being understanding, whether or not the rest of what he said was true. “I’m going to be… quiet, I think. For the next while. I have to sort things out in my head.”

“Don’t feel rushed.” Shiro smiled, though it was fainter now. “I know things are going fast now, but you have time to work out what you feel. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here, Keith. I don’t know everything that’s happened to you, but I know what you’re feeling right now.”

The difference, Keith thought, was that Shiro could be righteous about it. His captivity had been one horror after another. Abuse upon abuse. Shiro didn’t have  _ friends _ among the enemy. His bloodline didn’t tie him to those he’d betrayed--hell, Shiro hadn’t even been a betrayer. He’d never been a friend in the first place.

His metal arm, his shock of white hair, and the scar across his face declared to anyone who looked his right to hate the Galra and to hurt them. Keith, instead, had chips in his eyes and palms and not a scar elsewhere. 

He couldn’t say that, though. It’d hurt Shiro and push him to reassure Keith, and that was manipulative. Keith didn’t believe himself above manipulations--but Shiro was above it. Maneuvering Shiro into a position where he needed to comfort Keith because Shiro had had it worse made Keith shudder. The possibility tasted like rank ash on his tongue. No, it was better that Keith stay silent and work through things on his own. If nothing else, time would make the wounds grow shallow. Maybe someday, they’d even heal.

Keith smiled at Shiro. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m… really glad to be back. Not just with the others.”  _ But with you _ .

“I missed you too.” Shiro reached out to brush back Keith’s mauve hair. “And Keith? You could have come back as a frog and I’d be happy.”

Keith’s head ducked down. Beneath his fur, a flush spread over his cheeks. “... Good to know someone doesn’t mind the change.” At least someone who wasn’t a Galra. He flexed his hands. Hints of claw peeked from the tips of his fingers before retracting back. Lighter purple pads covered the dark purple skin. His fur looked almost midnight, so different from his human moon-pale skin. After nineteen years as a human, his brain caught on the change like cloth on a rusty nail. Maybe, he thought, if it’d been on someone else, he would have found the colour beautiful.

Shiro nudged him. “The others will come around. Hunk, Lance, Pidge--they’re smart people. Allura will take some time, but she knows your heart. And Coran, I think, isn’t angry. Scared for you, maybe.”

Keith could take fear  _ for _ him. He accepted everyone’s reactions grimly, but fear for him was a relief. Coran knew there was reason to be nervous about Keith and his form, but instead it sounded like he pitied Keith. That--that was acceptable to Keith too. Few on Central Command or at the Palace had pitied him. No, they’d expected him to feel gratitude, oblivious as to why someone might despise being changed both mentally and physically.

Pity was quintessentially un-Galra. It was refreshing to see now. It solidified that he was free and away from Galra, no matter his form, no matter what others saw or knew about him. Keith stifled a sigh of relief. It’d be impossible to explain to Shiro. Shiro had been a gladiator, after all, and he’d likely seen pity from those around him for his condition.

If no one had pitied Shiro’s fate, they lacked even basic empathy. The thought twisted his heart. He leaned into Shiro and wrapped his arms around the man. Keith’s brain worried for a moment that Shiro might flinch back, but he didn’t. Shiro pulled him close, angling Keith’s head into his shoulder.

“They don’t matter,” Keith said. Shiro opened his mouth to disagree, but Keith pushed on. “ _ You _ do. I’m not the same, but I promise I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to--I’m not going to betray anyone. I’m going to be the best Red Paladin I can be.”

There was a bubble in his chest that threatened to burst. He pulled back from Shiro and closed his eyes, focusing on evening out his breathing. Things were fine. He was fine. The bubble would go away soon. Shiro’s hand rested on his shoulder. The weight calmed him more than the breathing did. 

Keith stared at the blank metal wall across from him. “We should go talk to the Blades.”

“We should.” Shiro didn’t move. That almost made Keith angry. Shiro was using kid gloves for him. If Keith didn’t push, they wouldn’t go anywhere, and that annoyed him. He didn’t want to be understood. He didn’t want Shiro to look at him and read him. It made him feel vulnerable--like he was back with Zarkon. 

But it was Shiro. Shiro was trying to give him space and time for venting. Keith needed to be calm and sharp, not a blubbery mess promising to be the best Red Paladin the world had ever seen,  _ I promise, Shiro, I’m not broken or about to go off the rails. _

He regretted every second he’d spoken. At least Shiro had been kind enough to listen. Keith forced himself to his feet. The bubble still tried to crawl up his throat; he forced a smile for Shiro and walked from the room.

Shiro didn’t keep talking or touch him as they walked down to where the Blades were. He didn’t interrupt or second-guess Keith’s quick instructions to the Blades, or interject when Keith contacted the bridge. The Blades followed them from the room as he and Shiro brought them to a common room on higher floors. Shiro lightly touched Keith’s hand, comforting and warm. The bubble in Keith’s throat almost burst.

The Castle soon flew towards the Blades’ base. It would take a day to get there, Coran had said, and in the meantime, they could all relax and eat and wouldn’t that be just fine? Keith found himself closer to the Blades than the rest of the Paladins. Everyone huddled in the common room as Hunk cooked food goo. Lance watched the Blades like they might strike at any moment.

Pidge sat across from Keith and the Blades, a computer in her lap. Keith braced himself for a barrage of questions, but none ever came. She just sneaked looks at them, her eyes bright, while Shiro sat in the very centre of the horseshoe couch, a reluctant mediator torn between both sides..

Regris’ tail lay coiled around the Galran side of the couch. Ulaz watched the world from behind a mask; it prevented anyone from seeing what he really watched, which Keith suspected was the point.  Keith, meanwhile, still wore his Blades uniform, though he didn’t keep the mask up. 

Nobody spoke, despite Keith’s prayers otherwise. The awkward silence stretched out. He wished he could have taken the Blades to guest rooms and hid in his own, but they needed to be available--not just for questioning and scrutiny, but to give directions. There were, Ulaz had said, several security mechanisms through abandoned systems before they reached the base proper.

Lance kept looking down to stare at Regris’ tail. Every time he did that, the tip twitched. Regris radiated nerves. He’d likely never seen a human before except in pictures. Ulaz placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to murmur to him. The second Ulaz spoke, Lance snapped forward.

“What’d you say to him?”

Ulaz didn’t stiffen or freeze. He turned to look at Lance, languid and almost obnoxiously relaxed. “I was reassuring him, Paladin. Regris has never seen a human before, and he has family back on Gal that may be in danger.”

Lance’s expression fell. “... Oh. Dude, I’m sorry.” He shifted uneasily. “I hope nothing happens to them?” His voice wavered, as though torn between assertion and question. He shook his head, as though knocking away thoughts. “How long have you been a Blade?”

“Five years,” Regris said quietly. “Since I joined the army.” Ulaz didn’t offer his own backstory, but Keith imagined he’d been part of the Blades since around the same time in his life. Considering his appearance, it was likely decades. Thace knew Ulaz, and had implied they’d known each other a long time. Thace had always struck Keith as middle-aged. Which, to the Galra, meant nearing the end of his lifespan.

At least he wouldn’t die soon anymore. The thought skipped a beat in his head, like a record scratch. Thace was his enemy now--had always been, he reminded himself. Even if Thace had been kind. Even if Thace was his father.

That thought made things worse. His breathing had turned ragged, and he felt Pidge watching him. He couldn’t imagine his embarrassment if she called him out or--worse--asked if something was wrong. The bubble in his throat surged forward but he swallowed it back. Focusing his eyes on the distant wall helped a bit.

Ulaz’s friendliness seemed to have encouraged Lance, though. “What are you guys like?” Ulaz cocked his head to the side. “You guys are Galra ninjas, right? And spies. Where’d your organization come from? I haven’t ever heard about you guys.”

Strangely, Ulaz turned to Keith. He said nothing, and Keith realized he was trying to gauge Keith’s feelings. For what, Keith didn’t know. Keith shrugged, and Ulaz spoke. “... The Blade of Marmora is centuries old. It was founded by a group that guarded the Voice: they had nurtured doubts for decades about what the Voice did, and when they discovered the ramifications of communing with her, they chose to turn their backs on the Empire.”

“Why didn’t they just kill her?” Lance asked.

Ulaz shook his head. “They didn’t know how. They were guards and researchers, but none knew how to kill something like an Outsider. It took us four hundred years to find out, and one hundred years to get the opportunity and materials.” Ulaz looked at Keith. “Your friend was part of that.”

Lance eyed Keith. “What’s so special about him? Other than that he’s an alien.”

“Not to us,” Ulaz replied. That startled Lance: his eyes widened, and he jerked back a bit. “Keith has the abilities of a Druid, thanks to his bloodline. He used that to distract the Voice while I and Regris worked to poison her.”

Keith spoke this time. “Poison? You were never very clear on what you did.”

Ulaz shifted. If it’d been any other time, he’d have thought the couch was the problem. But after the question, it read as shifty. “... You stole documents on a shipment that the Empire was making.”

Keith blinked. “I remember that, yeah. I never figured out what was in them, though.” He almost chewed his lip before he remembered what his teeth were like. “You’re saying it was something the Empire discovered?”

“Yes.” Ulaz shook his head and turned to look at Keith. “You deserve an explanation. Your work for us was excellent, and you kept your faith in us despite the need for secrecy.” 

This wasn’t necessary. Why was Ulaz doing it in public? Everyone watched him, and it struck Keith that Ulaz was trying to help Keith’s position in Voltron. If the others knew what he’d done to kill the Voice, they’d trust him--and Ulaz--more. Even Hunk was in the room now, a plate of cookies in hand.

Keith could either play along, one again manipulating Team Voltron, or he could drag the conversation away, hiding what he’d done but preserving an ounce of his moral fiber. He looked from person to person. Pidge was interested, despite her show of nonchalance, while Lance had leaned forward, not even bothering to hide what he felt. Regris had stiffened; Hunk hovered behind him, a steaming plate of cookies in hand. And Shiro--Shiro’s face was sharp, his eyes narrowed. Was it distrust of the Blades, or did he know what Ulaz was doing?

Thoughts bounced through his head. What was he doing? What should he do? There wasn’t a good answer. But Keith knew his position was precarious, and maybe Ulaz had a better understanding of just  _ how _ precarious. “Thank you,” he said, though the words scraped at his tongue as they left his mouth.

Ulaz let his mask drop. Everyone pretended not to lean forward for a better view, but they all did--except for Keith and Regris. Ulaz’s measured expression was in sharp contrast to Regris’ anxiety and Keith’s own slumped shoulders. Lance opened his mouth, as though about to say something. Hunk gave him a swift motion with his hand. Lance’s mouth snapped shut.

“The Empire sometimes sent expeditions beyond the Voice’s shield.” Keith gaped. Ulaz continued, unwilling to acknowledge the shock that spread through the room. 

“Wasn’t that, uh, where the monsters are?” Lance asked.

Ulaz shrugged artlessly. “It was where the threat was. The Voice’s protection was good, but it was not perfect. As well, the Emperor had to be aware that the charade could only continue for so long. So, in hopes of a solution or perhaps to monitor the efficacy of the Voice’s power, every few decades, he would send out a single ship into the dark. These ships were staffed by the oldest Galra--the most skilled and knowledgeable who would die in a few years. None of them were meant to ever return.”

“But their information would,” Shiro said. “How? Were transmissions possible through the shield?”

“For a distance, yes.” Ulaz frowned at the floor, his brows furrowing. “By internal military estimates, as far as a day in. Many die before then. But the farthest was the most recent. Five years ago, a ship went in. We received communications from them until the day past. Then all went silent--typical, usual, and then three years later, we received another message. Scientists had a lot to posit about time warping and space changing, but the fact was that the message said one thing.”

Lance was spellbound. “What?”

“The Zera,” Ulaz recited, “reports that further incursions will be unnecessary. We have killed an Outsider, and bring the remains with us.”

“That’s--” Pidge had forgotten her laptop and almost dropped it as she jerked upward. “Why did Zarkon keep feeding the Voice?”

“Because when the ship drifted out of the dark, there was no one aboard to say what they had done.” Ulaz looked tired now--no, Keith thought, disappointed, even by the memory of what had happened. “No bodies, all records wiped clean, and only thing reporting what the crew had done the open airlocks. Everyone on board had killed themselves by jumping into the dark.”

Dreadful silence infected the room. Lance cringed, shrinking in on himself. Hunk finally came out from behind the couch and put the cookies in front of everyone. After, he took a seat beside Pidge. “Eat,” he commanded. “And what else happened? Because it doesn’t end there.”

“It doesn’t,” Ulaz agreed. He didn’t take a cookie, though, nor did Regris. “The ship was placed into containment. The Empire feared that it might be tainted, and that it’d spread the darkness that’d ravaged the universe before.”

Ulaz crossed his arms. Did it have the same meaning among Galra as it did on Earth? From Keith’s experience, it didn’t. Ulaz leaned back in the chair, his head lifting. “They found a piece of the dark on the ship. I don’t know the scientific details, but what the scientists determined was that the shard was from the heart of an Outsider.”

“Wait.” Lance squinted at Ulaz. “So one of these things has died? Did you do the same thing as the crew did to the Galras’ outsider?” Hunk winced, and that clued Lance into his mistake. “To the Empire’s Outsider, I guess.”

“Not quite.” Ulaz smiled, though, softening his tone. “The shard was inactive but sealed away into containment as well. They thought it could be used for further draining of planets and peoples. It was to be shipped to Gal for further experimentation. At that point, as the shard was shipped away, we lost contact with it. Our spy was only involved as a research assistant--enough to pass quite a bit of information, but nowhere near shipping plans.”

“And then you had Keith help,” Shiro said.

Ulaz nodded. “The information on shipping was in Zarkon’s hands. Keith had access and plausible deniability. How would he know anything about the shard or shipment, after all? And Keith attained the information with no scrutiny.”

Keith didn’t puff up or smirk. He refused to slouch, though, and kept his gaze on Ulaz. Still, he felt people’s eyes turn to him, assessing him with the new information. It lasted a moment before his patience snapped. “I did. Then you attacked Vrikka--the capital,” he added, because the name sent blank looks throughout the room.

“Don’t make it sound like it was just us,” Ulaz chided. “You were at work as well. Assassination is not easy. You took out one of the largest threats to our operations and sowed chaos in the court.”

Heat spread over Keith’s cheeks. It wasn’t from flattery. It was from the awkwardness of the others, and the reminder that he still had blood on his hands. Panic throttled him, but there wasn’t anything to say or do but keep going. 

“What matters is that you captured the shard then. It arrived that night, didn’t it?”

Keith’s words stirred a contemplative look from Ulaz. The man didn’t question Keith, though, or look startled. Keith figured he was filing away the dodge for later inquiries in private. When Ulaz spoke, his voice was quieter, more considerate.

“It did.” Lance now leaned over the gap between him and Ulaz, almost comically close. Ulaz didn’t shrink back. “We knew it had potential to be useful--and we knew that Zarkon’s scientists would have far worse purposes for it than simple study.” Regris’ tail twitched on the ground. Was it discomfort, or was he as enthralled as Lance? “We took it by force and surprise--mostly surprise.”

“The Palace was terrified,” Keith said. It hadn’t been just surprise. People had to have died.

Ulaz shrugged inelegantly. “The Empire was too used to Gal being safe. The Clarion and their ilk are less than subtle: they’d make threats, burn buildings, what have you. But everyone knew their motives and desires. And they’d certainly never attacked Vrikka.”

“But you did,” Shiro interjected. “When was the last time it was attacked?”

Ulaz frowned, a hand raising to his chin. “... The last I know of was seven hundred years ago. Another rebel faction, unsurprisingly, but more like the Clarion than the Blade. With the death of Prorok, the unease was nothing we’d seen before.”

“And the shard--?” Pidge asked. 

Ulaz’s lips twitched. “Into the waiting arms of the our scientists. It was far more complex than we’d expected, but it was just what we needed. The idea was that--if activated--it could devour the Voice. After all, the Outsiders had lived for so long among themselves. They had to eat something, and that something had to be each other. If presented with enough quintessence, the shard might attempt to grow on the power.”

Keith blinked. “The pool of quintessence she--the Voice--was in turned black when I came back from talking to her.”

“It’d been drained of all quintessence as well.” Ulaz spoke calmly, as though that wasn’t terrifying. “The shard was contained afterward in case it developed, and has yet to be transferred back to full containment.”

Lance’s eyes widened. “You meant it’s  _ here _ ?”

“Yes.” Ulaz raised a brow. “Would you prefer that I’d left it in the Red Lion? Or the room we were locked in? I understand your concern, but the case has endured far worse than resting in a pouch while I sit on a couch.”

That didn’t seem to soothe much of anyone. “It should be put away,” Lance said. “What if---what if just wakes up and breaks out?”

Hunk sighed. “It doesn’t sound like the Kool-Aid Man, Lance. It’s sounds like it’s a rock or piece of glass.”

“It’s still not safe.” Lance’s voice turned a whiny sort of insistent. Keith hated it, but he sort of agreed. He wasn’t sure where they’d even put the shard, though, and the Blades knew the most about it anyway. “I mean, it killed an Outsider, right?”

“It  _ is _ an Outsider,” Shiro pointed out. “The remains of one, at least.” His eyes turned to pick apart Ulaz. “We don’t know the effects of it having eaten the Voice are. You brought it back to life to eat it. What if it grows? Or it gets hungry again?”

Ulaz shook his head. “The case will contain it. It’s been tested to withstand everything from nuclear blasts to simulated planetary implosions. The Empire built the case so that nothing under and above the sky could touch it. Zarkon remembers what the Outsiders did, and he transmitted that fear excellently to the scientists. He’d have never brought the shard to Gal otherwise.”

Shiro’s eyes roved to Keith.  _ Do you trust him? _ Shiro seemed to ask. 

Keith gave a firm tilt of the head.  _ Absolutely. _

Keith’s quiet vouching worked only on Shiro and Hunk. Pidge was scientifically intrigued, but horrified at the shard; Lance didn’t want to touch it one bit. If Ulaz came close, he’d cringe back, tangling his limbs to get as far away as possible. He fell off the couch when Ulaz left for the bathroom--Keith swore Ulaz had planned it with how he’d swerved closer for a half-second, leaving Lance reeling. 

Regris had gone to rest. It left Keith with the others, all except for Coran and Allura. “You trust him,” Lance said, suspicion incarnate.

Keith couldn’t even find the will to be annoyed at Lance’s tone. “He was my contact at the Palace. From him, I was able to get out and I was able to fight back. If you’re going to ask me his favourite colour, I don’t have shit to offer. But if I’ll put my back in his direction? Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

The answer didn’t seem to please anyone. It was, Keith thought, too sudden for their tastes. Pidge and Hunk needed to get to know Ulaz first, while Lance needed to have a bonding moment he remembered. Even Shiro, who’d bowed to Keith’s opinion several times already, would need to scout out Ulaz’s thoughts and motives on his own.

Keith didn’t begrudge them it. He’d do the same if their positions were reversed. Most of them didn’t know Keith very well in the first place, so what water did his opinion hold? And while Shiro was his closest friend, Shiro also knew what could happen to a human brain under stress. Making poor choices was the least of it.

Lance opened his  mouth, about to press further, but Ulaz returned and the room fell into silence. Lance’s eyes were glued to Ulaz’s belt of pouches. Nobody asked to see the case. When Allura and Coran came, the silence didn’t break. Allura murmured something to Shiro who whispered back.

If Keith had been human, he wouldn’t have heard what they said. But he was a Galra now, with highly attuned ears. He felt them twitch as Allura and Shiro’s voices reached his ears. 

_ There’s something following us. _

_ What do you mean? How big is it? _

_ You need to come look. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient and leaving such kind comments! ;; I'm sorry I haven't been able to reply--RL's been messy--but I want you all to know that I'm reading each and hoarding them away in my inbox. <3
> 
> Next update will be April 2nd!
> 
> ETA: The Eternal Night update is going to be postponed to the 11th. I’ve really run into a roadblock with it, but I promise I will figure it out!


	4. Interlude | Best Laid Plans

The Galra were a hive.

Zarkon had thought that from the moment he could think beyond what he was told. His people busied themselves, forever industrious, always ready for a new task. They bloomed on praise, their eyes shining with an almost drunken sheen. It was expected that every Galra take to their role with enthusiasm and never turn away from their responsibilities. It was a life that few other races understood or cared to admire. 

To them, the Galra were evil. They were wasteful and greedy and vicious. Other races didn’t understand why a Galra could be placed at any station and, within days, be operational. Zarkon believed no other race could adapt like his people. But that was being challenged now.

Not his cultural chauvinism, but the degree to which a Galra could stretch. The dark water lapped at his boots, staining the metal grey. Nothing remained of her. Not even her most faithful Druids could sense her presence. His people’s eyes were shades of purple; a few had an indigo shade. They looked at their reflection on metal and cringed back.

It was unnatural. Oh, they were born with those features. It’d been so long since any Galra had seen their natural eyes. Even Zarkon’s had been fuelled by the Voice, turning it a vivid and glowing purple. But the idea of ‘natural’ was malleable, and Zarkon had moulded it into a belief that the Voice was the true source of naturalness, that the Galras’ eyes were meant to be a gleaming gold.

Keith had destroyed that. Zarkon knew he believed that he’d saved the universe and the Galra from themselves, but he didn’t know the destruction the Outsiders wrought on all they touched. Keith didn’t realize that he’d killed his friends. In five years, the universe would be dead. The Lions would be drained of quintessence. Stars would be eaten. The universe would be quiet and lonely, and the remaining survivors would wait until the last light went out.

He could still stop it. It wasn’t over--not yet. What Keith had done didn’t need to be the final act. If Zarkon could find another Outsider and make the same deal he had with the Voice… That would buy them more time. It would seal off the universe once again. It didn’t matter if the universe was shrinking, or that it was emptier by the year. Some life was better than no life at all. How Keith had made the estimation otherwise, Zarkon didn’t understand.

What he suspected was that Keith had deluded himself into thinking they stood a chance. Keith didn’t understand that Voltron had tried for thousands of years, and nothing had changed. The Outsiders only bred and grew stronger. In Zarkon’s life before the Voice, he had strategized a thousand meetings and launched even more assaults. He’d never seen a soldier’s corpse after the Outsiders reached it. There were old graveyards which held no bodies--only memories.

His people were a hive. Their industriousness could be directed. The old schematics for what they’d built to contain the Voice for transport still existed. There were ships and personnel left that could fly them to the edge of the universe.

The Outsiders were endless. With enough time, he could find another Voice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter! I just started work in the past two or so weeks, and it's been murder. The next update will be full and posted on the 23rd!
> 
> ETA: Update postponed to the 26th due to RL stuff!


	5. Chapter 5

Keith kept his back straight, his ears alert, and his face placid. What could be following them? There was always the Empire, but the Castle had jumped and they were close to the edges of the Empire now. What could have tracked them? His own chips were being scrambled every hour, preventing anyone from finding him.

An uneasy thought struck him. It wasn’t possible, though. The Voice was contained. Keith eyed Ulaz from the corner of his eye. A thin expression had taken root, and Keith knew Ulaz had heard it too. Revealing they’d heard would alarm the others, though. Shiro and Allura thought they were being subtle. Keith wanted to rub the bridge of his nose. He’d left the Palace, but things were just as stupidly complicated.

It was Shiro, though. Shiro wouldn’t care. He’d probably be more amused than anything at Keith slinking after them. Allura wouldn’t appreciate it, but Keith had, in the process of joining the Blades and bringing them to the Castle, become the Blades’ representative. Keith knew the team better than any other Galra. Hell, he  _ was _ part of the team, if only by technicality.

When Shiro stood and excused himself, none of the other Paladins said anything. They were asking Ulaz about silly things--Lance was reluctantly interested in Galran video games, while Pidge and Hunk interjected about technological capabilities.

It left Keith the chance to stand and follow Allura and Shiro. Allura wouldn’t be pleased about Keith’s presence, but he’d endure it. The trip to the bridge was silent. He spent it looking at his claws and paws that masqueraded as hands. They weren’t completely inhuman. They were human-formed, able to manipulate keys and controls, but they had fleshy pads on the palms and along the fingers. At the very tips, little whitish claws could be retracted or unleashed.

In his time as a Galra, he’d found them almost as strange as his ears. His ears were inhuman, but his hands were close to human, too close for comfort. Whenever he touched something--like a button on the elevator to the bridge--the flesh smushed against the plastic. Human fingers were less fleshy, more bone than meat, but it was different for a Galra.

The thoughts made his skin crawl. He’d been a Galra for months, but being back on the Castle made the changes more noticeable. It emphasized what once was. He shuffled to the back of the elevator and hunched in on himself. His legs felt like they’d been bent and broken and froze in a catastrophic mess. They didn’t belong. None of his body belonged.

His mental injunction to not think about it didn’t help. It was impossible not to think about his body--every breath he took shifted his fur and used his nose and let him think of the strange depths to his breathing. His lungs were magnitudes more used to high altitudes. Compared to the carefully regulated air of the Castle, it was almost like an overload of humidity and oxygen.

His body desperately preferred a dry summer or the desert. It was what his ancestors--whoever they were--had evolved to live in. Even the lusher parts of Gal survived in a permanent dry heat, only interrupted by blue moon rain showers. The Castle was built for a warm lush place that suckled on constant rain; cool air drifted through the halls, almost choking him with how damp it felt. Altea, Keith imagined, had always enjoyed an environment of plenty. Just like the other paladins had. Shiro had grown up in Fukuoka; Pidge, California; Hunk, Seattle; and Lance in New York City. Even Keith, who’d grown up in Toronto, hadn’t known true desert weather until Gal.

Arizona was arid and warm. Animals eked out an existence among predators, dirt, and plants that had adapted to survive on the margins. But Gal---Gal lived on a planet full of volcanoes, one with sand like the Sahara, the dryness of the Atacama, and the life of a futuristic wasteland. Gal was unlike anything Earth had seen in a single place.

What would it be like to return to Earth? Would the moisture make him uncomfortable? Would rain mold in his fur? How would he survive the heat in a world that demanded he be awake for the day? The Galra survived Gal through eating cacti, sleeping during the day, and long appendages like thinly-furred ears or tails. They guzzled water like they breathed air--the wealthier enjoyed Mahadra Spring water.

He’d learned by the end why they were so obsessed with it. Salt was rare in much of Gal. It was deep underground, and Galra had to mine it, which was its own complicated enterprise. Salt also helped the Galra retain water, and the spring water also had dozens of other minerals. It wasn’t a perfect liquid--only the rich could really afford to deal with the gout over-consumption caused--but it was one of the best drinks on the planet.

The thoughts helped him stop thinking about how the tendons in his legs tensed and loosened as the elevator rumbled up to the bridge. The doors swished open. Shiro and Allura were huddled to either side of Coran. An image was projected on the screen. 

It was a Galran ship. For a moment, his heart stopped. The Empire’s sigils decorated cold metal, while the weapons that bristled along its sides threatened any intruders. But then his brain lurched into action. It was a small ship, a patrol vessel at most. The Castle could destroy it in seconds. That was why Allura hadn’t told the others--it was a fly that could be ignored, but also taken into custody for information.

They hadn’t heard Keith’s arrival. Shiro reached up to touch at the diamond-shaped ship’s side. “It’s battered,” he said. “It’s been out for a long time if it doesn’t have repairs. I’m not sure what information it’ll have, Princess.”

“Some is better than none,” she replied quietly. “We don’t know what transmissions are being passed around. They’ve already switched to another encryption.”

Shiro grimaced. Keith knew it not because Shiro faced him, but he made that sound he always did: a faint sigh muddled by a hum. “The Blade might know the code--”

“I’m not allowing them outside of the lower levels.” Her voice was flat. “They’ve done a great service, but they are still Galra. If they have second thoughts, they could disable the Castle. It’s a risk I’m not willing to take.” She paused. “Even if Keith vouches for them.”

“... You don’t trust him either.”

She sighed., gustier and more resigned than Shiro’s. “The Red Lion responds to him, and he killed the Voice. But he’s been changed, Shiro. He’s not who he was. What attachments does he have now? What weaknesses can be exploited? The Keith I knew was moody and blunt. This one is different. Unknown. And I don’t like unknowns when our lives are on the line.”

Keith wasn’t even annoyed, let alone angry. Allura was being smart. If it’d been Lance who’d been captured, he’d have been suspicious as well. What bothered him was how they studied the Galran ship. Keith swallowed and cleared his throat. It was better they see him now--who knew what they’d be talking about in five minutes?

Allura’s head jerked around. Panic flashed over her face. Shiro, though, didn’t move. Was he frozen in panic, or did he not care? It wasn’t like he’d said anything wrong. Keith padded up to where the others stood, though he kept a half dozen feet of distance between himself and Allura.

“We can take it,” Keith said, “but it’ll open us up for tracking--at least until we shut off its systems.” Keith’s hands flexed at his sides. “Zarkon’s a fan of watching his… things.” Keith swallowed. “If we want the information, we shouldn’t take it aboard for longer than an hour or two before we jettison it.”

Allura eyed him. Her expression looked blank. “Do you know where the tracking system is?”

“No.” Keith wished he did. “Pidge, Hunk, and Coran will have to figure that out. I can work with the Blades to keep the other soldiers confined--”

“No confining,” she said firmly. Keith froze. “Not with the Blades. Shiro, you can help Keith alongside the droids. The Blades should be sent to their own locked rooms.”

Keith hid his frown. “... If you think that best, Princess.” He didn’t. At all. The Blades would have been immensely helpful: they knew the Imperial military better than anyone else on board. They’d know who to talk to and where to search for information. But Allura didn’t trust them yet--yet being the hopeful word. If Keith and the others bent to her will, she might eventually see them as allies. 

Shiro eyed Keith, as though bemused, but Allura looked satisfied. “I do. Keith, Shiro--put the Galra away. I’ll relay the rest of the mission.”

Keith said nothing as he left the bridge. Shiro followed him, expression a mix of a dozen emotions. “You could have said no,” Shiro said, finally, when they were in the elevator.

Keith shrugged. “And make her angry? No thanks.”

“You’re not that easily cowed.”

“Who says I haven’t changed?” Why had he said that? He didn’t even know if it was a joke or a barb, and by Shiro’s twisted face, he couldn’t tell either. Keith scrambled for words. “It’s better to endure it. She’ll either accept that some Galra want to stop the Empire--or she’ll hate us still by the end. Either way, it’s none of my business.”

Shiro blinked at him. “None of your--Keith, you’re a  _ Galra _ .”

“And?” Keith forced out any archness in his voice. It was a simple question phrased in a simple way. “Allura won’t do anything terrible to me. I’m a Paladin. All I care about is making sure the Blades have their opportunities when they need them. Helping scour a patrol ship isn’t that moment, even if they would have been helpful.”

“Pragmatic pacifism,” Shiro muttered.

Keith’s brow furrowed. “... What does that mean?”

“Nothing bad.” The elevator door swished open. “I’ll be honest with you, Keith. I don’t really know what other tactic you could take with her. What’s happened to her is--it’s difficult to comprehend in a lot of ways. When this is over, it’s going to take a lot of time for her to heal.” Shiro didn’t walk quickly down the hall. He’d slowed to a light step. “I’m… glad you aren’t forcing it.”

There was nobody on the Castle, Keith reflected, that had been more surprised than Keith at the truth of his heritage. That wasn’t to diminish everyone else’s surprise, but Keith had thoroughly believed--thoroughly  _ deluded _ himself--that he was anything but a Galra. He’d explained away the knife, the quintessence, the Voice’s change: all of it had been written off as misfortune, a strange parent, even the whim of an almost-deity. 

Killing the Voice had been the five stages of grief in hyperspeed. He still felt a single moment of loneliness away from breaking down into shudders and gasps. But the universe needed him. He didn’t have the luxury of whining or crying. He wouldn’t give himself that luxury. It’d be an expression of weakness he couldn’t afford, and it made him angry that the thought was so quintessentially  _ Galran _ . But after that anger came the overwhelming need for calm. If his hackles raised or he bared his teeth, the only human or Altean that’d stay would be Shiro.

And Voltron  _ needed _ to be a team for this. The universe would die otherwise. His skin beneath his fur prickled. It itched. He didn’t check to see what it was. Knowing him, it was more self-inflicted misery. Keith endured it, just like he had everything else. Despite his monumental surprise and dismay and grief, he marched on.

If he could manage that, everyone else could figure it the fuck out on their own schedule.

Keith shrugged. “I’m trying to be smart about it.” He let the subject drop, pivoting to another. “Part of that is the Blades. Let me talk to them, okay? They don’t really know you, though I want them to.”

Shiro placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in as they walked. “I’d like that,” Shiro said, warm as the sun.

Keith tried not to see the gentleness as a reward. If he started to believe that giving in and obeying were the smart things to do, he’d just be put in another cage. He flashed a quick smile at Shiro and pulled away. The Blades waited for them in the lounge. Only Lance remained with them.

His expression was dark. “Took you long enough, Mullet.”

Don’t bite, Keith thought. “Thank you for watching them. I’m sorry about this, Ulaz, Regris--’’

“No apologies for me?” Lance leaned forward on to the balls of his feet. They were too close in size for Lance to be able to loom, but he tried his very best. “I could be with the others, y’know!”

Lance’s arms were crossed like a barrier. Keith wished,, dearly, for something to drink. His mind went instantly to fermented gheron milk, which he tried to discard by shaking his head. Before Lance could get offended, Keith spoke.

“I’m sorry you had to wait.” Was that his new fate--to apologize for every slight, imagined or not? At least, Keith reflected, he’d been prepared for it as a Canadian. Less so as a Torontonian. “You can go after the others. Shiro and I will take over from here.”

“Shiro and I?” Lance muttered as he pulled away. His voice turned high and mocking. “Shiro and I!”

It was like being back in grade school. The Blades stared at Lance as he huffed and stomped his way out of the room. Keith decided, then, that he was on a roll. “Sorry about him,” Keith offered.

Regris shook his head as Ulaz sighed. “It’s fine,” Regris said. “Some people are… moody. Difficult to work with. He seems tolerable enough on his own.”

_ It’s when he’s around you that things get bad _ went unsaid. It didn’t need to be vocalized. Anyone who’d seen him and Lance in the same quadrant knew their problems. Keith shrugged in lieu of saying anything. “We’re taking a patrol ship over,” he said. “The Princess wants you--” What was a polite word for it?--”separated from any prisoners we take on board, for your own safety.”

“... Of course,” Ulaz said.

Regris breathed a laugh. “Thank the moons for her gracious treatment. You don’t need to lie, Paladin. She doesn’t like us--or you.”

Shiro stiffened, but Keith just shrugged again. “If we’re going to remove politeness, then, well, yeah. She’s not thrilled with having Galra onboard. It’s probably for the best anyway that none of the patrol soldiers see you, if only because you have relatives who could be hurt.” He pursed his lips. “I can send a droid with food. Do you want blankets? It’s surprisingly cold here.”

He hadn’t used to find it cold, but then he was a Galra now, used to the desert’s heat. His fur was meant to help him during cold nights, but by then, he’d be wrapped in blankets and in a city still warmed from the lingering sun. 

The Blades went to their rooms without complaint. It left him and Shiro in the halls alone.  “We need to get you back into armour,” Shiro said after a moment of silence. “We need a united front.”

Keith kept his eyes pinned ahead. “... I’d prefer to not have them recognize me either. We have spares, but I don’t know if they’ll fit my new body.” 

It was relatively simple to get armour made. The Castle’s systems produced it with a quick scan and spat out a full suit within seconds. What had concerned Keith, though, was that they wouldn’t be able to accommodate a body like his. It wasn’t human; it was barely humanoid. Yet when it scanned him, the Altean systems didn’t deny him. Shiro helped affix the armour around his digitigrade legs.

Shiro’s fingers combed through the thick fur now and again. His eyes were wide, transfixed; his nails were short, but something built in Keith’s throat. Rough and rumbling, it shocked him to realize he wanted to purr. When had he last purred?

Keith swallowed sharply. His hands flexed at his sides as Shiro ran the flat of his hand along Keith’s shins. When Shiro reached the end of Keith’s foot, Keith startled at the sensation of pure warmth. Shiro jerked away. 

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head, knocking away the daze he’d been in. “I’ve just--most Galra I’ve seen have wanted to kill me.” His eyes stared at the half-hidden fur. “You’re soft. I don’t know why that surprises me so much.”

Because it was hard to assign such flattery to an enemy, or someone that  _ should _ have been an enemy. Keith didn’t say that. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a finger to Shiro’s cheek. He knew his finger pads were warm and smooth. Shiro locked eyes with Keith, surprise frozen on his face. Keith drank in the contact. It was contact he’d initiated. It was contact he wanted.

It wasn’t just a touch. It revolutionized Keith’s body. A rush of energy filled him; his hand quivered. When he pulled back, it was only because he feared cutting Shiro with his claws. Shiro looked away. Keith quickly snapped together the rest of his suit. Shiro waited for him outside the room by then.

Shiro didn’t say anything about what had occurred, and Keith didn’t bring it up either. The cells were far below, nearer to the hangar than to the bridge. It took a quick stop by a terminal to release dozens of droids. “They’ll recognize me in the system, right?” Keith asked.

Shiro paused at the terminal. “... Your DNA hasn’t really changed, has it? But then if it was alien, someone might have noticed.” His brow furrowed. “We might have to re-register you.”

They didn’t have time for it, though. Keith braced himself when they encountered the first droids, but none of them did anything. Together, they walked through the halls silently. The Paladin armour felt heavier than anything he’d worn in a long while. It covered him from head to toe, was warm as desert sand in the morning rays, and promised a protection in a way that didn’t come with strings. The armour asked that he wear it and use it--not that Keith stand back and be protected like he’d been at the Palace.

The others had taken over the ship. Keith heard their reports through his helmet and earpiece. Pidge was combing through the vessel, searching for information. Hunk and Lance corralled the soldiers. There were only a few dozen, Lance said. A skeleton crew, but one that’d been lucky enough to find the Castle. Or, Keith thought, more like  _ un _ lucky. They wouldn’t die, but they would be stranded somewhere, likely a distant planet. The Empire would find them eventually, whether in weeks or months, and they’d return to their lives as part of the patrols.

For now, Keith turned his helmet’s glass one-way and waited at the docking area. Near the open mouth, a bridge stretched down the centre of a glowing white barrier that sealed the hangar from space’s void. The barrier protected it, shielding it so that the disembarking Galra could huddle together and inch their way to safety. Keith set up the controls so that the barrier hardened along the sides. He didn’t put it past the Empire’s soldiers to jump in preference to being captured.

The patrol ship drifted toward them. Pidge and Allura guided the ship through calls and responses. Keith stood straight-backed at the tip of the bridge. Shiro waited opposite. The air in Keith’s lungs had been stolen. His panicking brain wondered if he’d somehow fallen into space. Everything was wrong--how he felt, what he wore, who he was. Only hours ago, he’d been on Gal. Only hours ago, he’d been speaking to Zarkon.

What did these soldiers know? Did they know the Voice was dead, and the Red Lion free? They’d know soon. The Red Lion waited in the hangar alongside the others. The hangar locked the patrol ship in place. Its weapons were neutralized--some gouged out, others simply deactivated. A door opened at the back. Two soldiers stumbled out.

Their eyes, like the ones he’d glimpsed on Gal, were no longer gold. It unnerved him. He said nothing, though. All he did was stand straight and order the soldiers into pairs. Droids collected the pairs, cuffing them and searching for weapons under Shiro’s directions. Two tried to escape: the first whirled around to lash out at Keith, but Keith still had his instincts. He’d knocked the soldier on his ass and shoved him down the bridge to where he could be cuffed. The other had tried to fight Shiro. It had gone even worse for her: she’d been carried to the cells by a droid.

There were, by Keith’s count, twenty five soldiers. Most were technicians who kept the patrol ship running for the years they were out of contact from the Empire’s main routes. A few were soldiers, born and bred, but Keith guessed there were only five. Six more were scientists and doctors. Of the commanding officers, there were only two: a Captain Jisa and a Lieutenant Marl. The Captain had been the one to attack Shiro. It hadn’t been Marl who’d gone after Keith, and that made him wonder if the man had a spine. Both would be planning something if they were kept for long.

One of the Galra kept glancing at him. It set Keith on edge. He didn’t look at the woman or say anything. Ignoring her, though, didn’t direct her gaze elsewhere. When the droids, Shiro, and him marched the prisoners through the Castle’s halls, the Galra whispered and pointed. Some were fascinated by the light colours of the Castle. Others shivered, their arms wrapped around their middles. 

The Galra that had kept glancing at him slowed. The droids did nothing as she fell rows back, towards Keith and the dozen droids that penned the Galra in. Her hands fisted her uniform’s sleeves. She looked young--young as in newly hatched birds, or stumbling kittens. She couldn’t have been on the ship for long. A feeling of dread washed over him.

Had she been on Central Command? If she’d been there, she’d have seen him. She’d know he had to be in the Red Paladin armour, despite his twisted legs. Keith Kogane, Red Paladin, whatever she’d known him as--in the end, she’d known him, and that was what mattered. All the moisture in his mouth dried up. His palms itched. Panic whispered to him, a drug beyond any other to his senses. What if she told the others what he’d done? He didn’t recognize her. She had to have been a distant watcher, not one of Hyladra’s friends.

Part of him clung to denial. Maybe she was just curious, or waiting for a chance to lash out. He wanted to believe that. It’d comfort him, in fact. But so much had gone wrong for him--what was one more thing?

Several Galra struggled as they were put into cells. Some of it was for show: they didn’t want to be known as cowards or weaklings. A few tried for real, their claws screeching over polished metal, leaving grooves and gashes. None of them hit Shiro or him. Keith engaged the last lock on the last cell when the woman’s silence broke.

“Keith,” she said. Her voice was not familiar. “I didn’t think you’d go back to them.”

Keith paused, finger above the keypad. “... I--” He shouldn’t say anything. If he walked away, the conversation was over. There were twenty six people listening in. Even if she gossiped and yelled, it couldn’t be worse than tearing open wounds and bleeding for all to see. He tapped the key and walked away.

_ Keith--! Keith! _ But what was the point in looking back at her He could just as easily guard at the entrance than take up a post by the cell doors. The droids could hover around the energized beams of light. Shiro hurried after him. Which was good--what would the woman say to Shiro if she had the chance? What would she say to  _ anyone _ who came near her? She could destroy the tattered ties that bound Voltron together. They were at their weakest.

Did she know that? Or was she oblivious, more scared of her situation than malicious? None of the captured Galra seemed to understand why their eyes were purple now. Some peered into the shiny metal interiors of the cells, marvelling at their strange eyes. Keith didn’t enlighten them on the reason. It’d only cause more chaos. 

“You knew her,” was the first thing Shiro said when the doors to the cell block closed. “Or--she knew  _ you _ . I can’t tell which.”

Keith stared ahead at the greyish halls. “... She knew me. I don’t recognize her.”

“Where do you think she knows you from?”

Keith winced. “Central Command. I was mostly known as Keith the Red Paladin for it.” What else should he say? If he didn’t warn the others, the soldier could sow chaos. “I was--uh.” His mouth went dry, and something stole the words from his mouth. He scrambled for something, anything to say. “They let me roam within reason.”

That sounded terrible. He sounded like a pet rabbit or rat. It didn’t make him sound like a prisoner or a victim. He spoke more, as though he were frantically plugging up a leaking boat.

“I was a prisoner but they didn’t keep me in a cell--at least not always--and sometimes I was with Galra.” He ground his teeth and pushed on. “I think it was Zarkon’s way of trying to get me to form attachments.”

Shiro looked at him, expression soft. He reached out to put a hand on Keith’s shoulder and leaned in. Keith felt relief wash over him. Shiro didn’t care. It’d never matter to Shiro. He’d worried and worried, and should have never bothered-- “Did you?”

The words ripped through him.  _ Did you betray us _ ? Shiro seemed to ask. Keith struggled to breathe, let alone speak. He’d fucked up. He shouldn’t have phrased it like that, and now Shiro knew what he’d done.

But not the details. Not yet. He didn’t need to know about birthday parties and tutoring and even lunches held beside laughter. “... There were some Galra who believed I was close to them. They didn’t understand the situation I was in.“

Shiro smiled. That had to mean he’d said something right. “I remember,” Shiro said, “that I met other Galra in the Coliseum.” His smile turned lopsided. “They didn’t understand it either. It didn’t matter what I told them. Hell, what I  _ yelled _ at them.”

Shiro had done more than Keith. Maybe if he’d yelled and shouted and hit, the bonds would never have formed. Keith would be innocent--unblemished by ties and scars. A tangle of emotions rose in him. He stuffed it down and forced his face to mimic something resembling Shiro’s smile. Shiro wanted to believe in him; Shiro wanted to sympathize. Keith should be grateful. It wasn’t just Shiro being kind.

It was Shiro giving him a second chance.

Keith leaned against the wall and jutted his hip out. He needed to look relaxed and unbothered. Nothing should disturb the smirk he forced on to his face. “It was ridiculous,” he said. “It didn’t matter how many times I told them I was a prisoner--they believed I was a friend.” That wasn’t cocky enough. How had he spoken before the Galra? “They’d pull me into the mess and talk about their families--”

And he’d listened. He’d listened and advised and slumped in his seat as they teased him. He’d asked questions about their situations and laughed at their jokes. But he couldn’t admit that. It was a betrayal of Shiro who’d suffered far worse yet held on to his backbone.

Keith forced his smirk to grow stronger. “It was a farce.”

“A farce?” Shiro echoed. Keith’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before.”

He’d tried not to speak like a Galra. | What had he once spoken like, though? He didn’t remember. There was sarcasm and some snorts, a teasing smile for Shiro and furrowed brows for the rest. But what words had come from him? It’d been a year, and he’d had nineteen years as a human. His time with the Galra had loosened the ties that bound him to humanity.

If his mother had never left Gal, he’d never have anything to ache for. Now, though, there’d been something before the Galra. There would be an after too, he promised himself. One that would come soon. Shiro watched him through curious eyes, his head cocked to the side. Keith needed to say something.

But what could he say? ‘I picked it up from the Galra’? It made him even more suspect. Still, he’d need Shiro on his side if he slipped in front of Lance or Allura. Any changes would be put down to him turning, not to…  _ whatever _ had happened. So he needed to speak.

He opened his mouth. No words rushed to his lips, so he pried out the first few and hoped the rest followed. “It’s from... the Palace,” he said. “And Central Command. It was all translating weird through Red, so I heard a very weird English. I guess I picked up more than I thought.”

Shiro’s lips pursed. “I heard some weird English from them as well,” he said. “When I was--with them.” He shrugged and mirrored Keith’s lean. “It could be a class thing? The Galra you were with would be the finest and most educated in the Empire. Mine weren’t.”

Shiro had had it worse. Shiro had had it worse. _Shiro_ _had had it worse._ The chant gave him a sense of stability. It killed his mind’s urge to brood and ruminate. Shiro had had it worse, and that meant Keith needed to keep his shit together. Whoever that Galra was, she’d tell someone what had happened and what he’d done. Whether it was a fellow Galra who told the other Paladins, or she got her claws into one directly--people would know.

His charade hadn’t even lasted a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking an eternity to post! Work really got in the way. The next update should be May 11th! In the meantime, find me at the-wenzel.tumblr.com.
> 
> ETA: Update postponed the 29th! I've run into a bit of writer's block.
> 
> SON OF THE ETA: Disregard, my dumpster fire continues. Update booted to June 10th.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait! RL got very much in the way. However, I'm back into the swing of things now, and I'll be working hard on wrapping up this series. <3 It should be finished by the end of the year!

All good things came to an end, even if they’d never really been good. Keith had eaten in the kitchen tucked beside Shiro as the others laughed and feasted. It was, to them, a victory of unequaled proportions. The Red Lion was back at the Castle, and Voltron could be formed. The Voice was dead, they had allies among the Galra, and Zarkon had been foiled once again. It was, objectively, as good as things could get outside of Zarkon dropping dead from a heart attack.

Keith found less joy in the meal. The food goo had been whipped to peaks and decorated in spices; piled atop vegetables and meat, it was like a gravy with a lighter taste. It should have been delicious. It wasn’t needlessly sour or Zarkon’s candy-sweet preference, but pleasantly savoury and spicy. It reminded Keith of an Earth restaurant he and Shiro had gone to during a week-long break. It’d been a Tex-Mex place, run by a broad-accented Texan and his Tejano husband. Barbecue, burritos, and chalupas had filled the menu.

The restaurant--Sol y Arena--had been a little diner tucked in a rural Arizonan town. The older locals eyed it with suspicion, but it’d been popular among the Garrison cadets and younger residents. Where else could you get a heaping plate of food for $10? He and Shiro split a plate of tamales as an appetiser. It could have passed for a meal on its own.

What he remembered the most, though, was the scent of the desert. Brilliant red and orange sands blew outside, dyeing the white, squat building pastel. It’d had a more iron-smell to it, he thought. Gal’s deserts were smoky and finer-grained, almost like water when you walked on them. Feet sunk into their depths. A light rain would turn it to quicksand. He wondered if Gal had stories about that. He’d never know, he told himself firmly, and it’d be best not to ask anyone, not even the Blades. It’d open a door he already struggled to keep shut.

“Does it taste different?” Hunk asked as Keith flailed about with a knife and fork. The Galra used larger implements modified for hands with pads and claws. “I mean, you’re not really human now.” He paused. “Or ever, I guess.”

Hunk didn’t mean anything cruel about it. He could be blunt and unthinking by times, but he didn’t mean to make heat spread up from the base of his neck and blossom on fur-covered cheeks. It was a quintessentially  _ human _ physical reaction that it caused more pause in Keith than the question itself.

“I, uh.” Keith shook his head. His ears flopped a bit. He took a scoop of the foam, as though he hadn’t eaten most of it, and focused on the taste. It was… dulled, he thought. The spice both registered a little less than it usually would, and hurt his tongue more. It was less enjoyable.  He told Hunk that.

Hunk’s expression turned thoughtful. “Do cats taste spice?”

“I’m not a cat.”

Hunk shrugged. “Cat-ish. You’re like a cat-person-rabbit hybrid.”

Keith stared. “ _ Rabbit _ ?”

“Yeah!” Hunk looked uncertain, though. “... You’ve got a really bouncy way of moving. I’m not the only one who’s noticed, right?”

Pidge didn’t meet Hunk’s eyes. Shiro seemed more concerned with Keith being served a proper amount of vegetables, judging by how he continuously piled them into the empty spaces of his plate. Meanwhile, Allura wouldn’t look anyone in the face, though Coran had a faint smile. 

“You are,” Lance said. He clapped a hand on Hunk’s shoulder and leaned in. “Maybe if his ears were, y’know, a bit bigger more people would see it?”

“I dunno.” Hunk squinted at Keith. “They’re pretty big already. Sort of--battish?”

This was them trying to understand his new form. It was a good thing that they were working on coming to terms with it. Keith should be glad that they’d stopped eyeing him like he was a monster. It was better to be a sideshow than the one at the gallows. Still, his ears twitched again under the force of their gazes.

“A really weird bat,” Lance said doubtfully. “Gal’s cover in sand, right? What would bats be doing there?”

Pidge looked put upon. “Bats live in deserts, Lance.”

“Seriously?” Lance looked amazed. “Where would they be hiding?”

Pidge’s eyes drifted closed as she took a long, deep breath. Hunk intervened. “But you look like a few animals shoved together, Keith, I think that’s what we’re trying to say. What’s--what’s Gal even like? I’ve seen pictures, but a hill of sand looks like a hill of sand.”

They hadn’t seen Vrikka, the Coast, the Ashwastes, or the strange little jungles of red trees and vines. Keith swallowed. His mouth tasted sour. “It depends on where you are. I didn’t see a lot of Gal--just the deserts and the capital--but there were pictures.”

Hunk leaned forward. His food had been pushed aside. “Of what?”

“Of little island chains surrounded by mists and covered in reedy trees.” Keith’s gaze unfocused, as though he’d been swept away in the tides of memory. “There are jungles on Gal--along the coast, just miles of red leaves and vines. There’s something called the ‘Glittering Coast’ where everyone who’s wealthy or important has vacation homes. It’s protected better than even Vrikka. Anyone who wants in needs to jump a hundred hurdles--and anyone who wants out can spend years trying to get the right documentation.”

Pidge was looking at him now. “Is it just protected because of the important locals?”

“That,” Keith said, “and because I think that’s where a lot of Gal’s wealth comes from. The Clarion would want to kill residents  _ and _ disable food production.” He glanced down at his vegetable-filled plate. He tried to keep a rueful note out of his voice. “Galra largely eat meat, but they-- _ we _ \--value certain spices and need vegetable-centric vitamins as well. Just not as much as humans. When I was… looked like a human, I do think the food wasn’t great for me. Not enough vegetables, really. There is a fondness for some fruits and berries, though. Something like a lemon would be considered a luxurious food.”

Lance’s lips curled. “A  _ lemon _ ?”

“They like sour food. It’s the hot new thing to them.” Meanwhile, he and Zarkon had lived on sweetness. “It’s, uh… contentious, I guess.”

Hunk’s dark eyes gleamed. “Contentious?”

“It’s about tradition,” Keith said. “From Zarkon’s time, they liked sweet food. Things have changed over ten thousand years. The Galra like to take things from cultures they…” He swallowed. “Subjugate. Spices, new ingredients, those kind of things. Think the Italians with tomatoes.”

Lance had lost interest, focusing instead on contemplating Allura as she delicately pulled apart the meat. Her cheeks had flushed a reddish while her grip on the fork was tight. It wasn’t smart to be talking about this, Keith knew that, but he needed the others to think about the Galra in some sense of normalcy. The Galra were still sapient creatures. They did monstrous things, but they could be understood and reasoned with.

The more Voltron thought of the Galra as thoughtless, vicious sub-humans, the harder it would be to work with the Blades--and the harder it’d be to pull the Galra away from Zarkon. 

But weren’t those excuses, in a way? It  _ was _ selfish. He didn’t want them to look at him and think ‘monster’. They weren’t… he wouldn’t call them friends. Hunk and Lance had known him from afar, but Keith didn’t remember them, had only distantly recognized Lance when pressed. Pidge, he’d never met before, and the same for Coran and Allura. Their opinions weren’t as important as Shiro’s. But he needed to work with them, and--deep down--he hated feeling hated. He’d gone through it enough. Central Command, the Garrison, the orphanage in Toronto--he’d had a few who liked him, those like Hyladra and Shiro, but so many people had hated him.

And for what reasons? He didn’t know why everyone had been uncomfortable around him at the orphanage. He didn’t know why everyone had resented him at the Garrison--only that a few had been jealous of his talent, and maybe more were jealous that Shiro had liked him. Central Command, though, that was understandable. He’d killed Galra. 

Now, here he was, trying to make the Galra seem a bit more human to people he didn’t know, some of which hated him, while in the form of a Galra, across from a pair of Alteans whose people had been largely slaughtered and their planet destroyed, beside a man who’d been enslaved and forced into mortal combat by his people. 

A headache throbbed at his temples. Nothing in his life made an ounce of sense. 

Hunk contemplated Keith. Keith tried not to cringe away. “So you--uh, the Galra, eat a lot of meat and sour food. What are your snacks like?”

“Nuts,” Keith offered. “Berries. Some seeds, but big ones like pumpkin seeds. There was usually fruit offered as well--but heavy on the nuts, which were sometimes salted or sweetened.” Keith frowned down at his meal. “All of it came with Mahadra Spring water.”

“Mahadra?” Pidge asked. She mimed the accent the Galra gave the word with exaggeration. 

Keith didn’t correct her. “It’s a special water that’s got a lot of natural minerals and salts. It tastes pretty awful and it’s pink.”

“ _ Pink? _ ” Lance sounded delighted. “You were drinking pink water?”

It was low, even for Lance. Keith shrugged in reply. “There’s nothing wrong with pink. Do you think there is?” He aimed a steady gaze right at Lance.

Lance, who squirmed a bit. He knew damn well there was nothing wrong with pink, let alone pink water. “Pink’s… fine. I guess.” He frowned down at his empty plate. “I didn’t think it was funny--”

“I’m not surprised the Galra drink pink water,” Allura said. Her voice didn’t have a chill to it, but a considered, measured tone. “Your people have never known how to not make a scene about things.”

Keith winced. What did he even say to that? It was a brutal blow. “It’s just pink. We have pink pop on Earth too.”

Allura grimaced. “Unfortunate.”

“Why?” Hunk cut in. He looked just as confused as Keith felt. “Pink’s just pink. Bit funny to have that as water, but Keith’s right. We’ve got all sorts of pink drinks. Cream soda, strawberry milk, strawberry lemonade, cherry soda --Altea has to have something like those.” He blinked and his mind seemed to catch up on the tense he used.  _ Had _ , he whispered, as though trying to take it back

Allura’s brows rose then furrowed. “... It wouldn’t mean the same thing to humans, would it? Sometimes I forget you aren’t some sort of Altean offshoot.” She put her utensils down. “Pink is the colour of mourning--at least in my and Coran’s time. I can’t speak for the colony.”

So drinking pink water was the space-goth equivalent to drinking black liquid on Earth. At least to two of the Alteans in the universe. Through that lens, the Galra looked stupid, savage, and silly. Keith would roll his eyes at a race of villains who drank only black liquid as some sort of ambrosia. In a book, he’d call it unrealistic and heavy-handed. But he’d lived that reality now. To the Galra, pink was just a gentle ferocious red. Pretty and properly Galran.

Had that caused pettiness before the Voice? It was a time Keith didn’t want to contemplate much. He picked up a glass of some unknown substance, bright purple, and threw back a few gulps. A few drops touched his fur. Later, he’d have to scrape out the sticky substance, but for now, it got him a little closer to escaping the awkward silence that filled every gap between hesitant words.

Shiro’s shoulder pressed against his. Shiro said nothing as his hand rested on Keith’s thigh. Keith knew it was meant as comfort--but what was the comfort to it? His brain ached a bit more and the flush spread beneath his fur. People stared at him, waiting for him to make excuses for the Galra; all he thought about was the warm hand resting heavy on him.

Keith pushed away from the table and stood. Shiro’s hand pulled back. Everyone looked at him with a spectrum of emotions. None of them were good. Some seemed to anticipate a grand statement, but they didn’t realize he had nothing to offer. Exhaustion threatened to tilt the world from under his feet, but he knew he needed to figure out how to handle the captured Galra who knew a little too much about him.

Who were they? In an ideal world, it’d be an easy answer. One look and he’d recognize her. But reality was more complex. He’d seen so many Galra on Central Command, and so many more had seen  _ him _ . He waited until he saw in the halls before he rubbed his eyes to relieve the pressure behind them. The captured Galra didn’t know Keirin or Caith, or she would have said something. Even without her knowing about those two identities, she could do enough damage just gossiping.

So what did he say? Keith didn’t know. In place of going to her, he found himself taking the detour to the Blades’ room. But then came the problem with  _ them _ : what did he say to them that could comfort them for being locked in a room? How did he phrase that Voltron needed their help but was wary and distrustful? 

_ We’re not assholes. We’re just acting like ones because we’re scared. _

It sounded childish. But then several people in Voltron  _ were _ childish. Pidge was fifteen. Lance and Hunk were eighteen or nineteen, barely out of adolescence’s worst excesses. Allura was… at least a teen in Altean years. The hormones flowed. Shiro was twenty-six now to Keith’s twenty. The dates were fuzzy. How long was a day on Gal? What about on Central Command? Everything had been guesswork since he left Earth. For all he knew, he’d been gone for far longer than a year. 

What mattered, though, was that the self-reflection was not the team’s strongest point. It was a mix of age, personality, and experience. Trying to push the team to embrace Galra without giving them time would make them more hostile.  Allura would rightfully see it as a disrespect to what she and Coran had endured. Lance would see it as Keith’s arrogance, while Hunk would be wary that Keith was up to something or just being an asshole to people. And Pidge--she didn’t have a good history with him. She’d see it as him being out of control, potentially swayed to the Galra side. Keith didn’t know what Coran would think.

Shiro, though, might be willing to listen--but if he said anything about what Keith had said to anyone else, they’d accuse him of favourites, of being naive or whatever else. People didn’t want to be told that they had to work with their enemies. Hell, most Galra wouldn’t be happy in the same situation. Maybe it wasn’t maturity, then, or age. Maybe it was just people being people: protective, wary, and--to some degree--frightened.

The Galra were outsiders.  _ Keith _ was an outsider. They ate strange food, had stranger customs, and spoke a strange language. Worse, they hurt people. How did he reassure Voltron that the Blades and Keith were safe? Every time the Empire tried to kill Voltron, it had been another nail in the coffin for his cause. 

He passed the Blades’ doors. The thought to talk to them before engaging the mysterious Galra trailed after him, but that meant confessing Voltron’s divisions and that Keith’s position might be weak. If they knew Voltron was divided and their one ally was weak, they’d strike out on their own--which would only hurt efforts to ally even more. Keith’s head ached at the thought. What was he going to do?

Allura was, surprisingly, not his first problem. She hated the Galra for what they’d done, but she could be influenced. Coran had shown surprisingly little hostility toward Keith, and he had Allura’s ear. What could Keith dredge up in a talk with him? And even more, if the Blades had ever helped the Altean colony, that’d help their cause substantially. At her heart, Allura was pragmatic and loved her people. Keith could work with that, even if it sounded heartless to think. 

But Lance. Lance was a problem. He didn’t know how to argue with Lance--hell, even if he did, Lance wouldn’t listen. He hated Keith too much to care about what spilled from his mouth. And if Lance wasn’t signing on to Keith’s proposal, that meant Hunk wasn’t either. 

Hunk was smart, critical, and selectively brave. Teaming up with Galra demanded they risk something, and Hunk didn’t give things for free to those he didn’t like. Hunk was, by nature, distrustful. Oh, he’d felt for the Balmerans, but that was after being forced to meet them. Even more, the Balmerans were  _ innocent _ . They hadn’t done anything wrong. They’d been enslaved and tormented. Not like the Galra who’d abused and brainwashed and tried to murder Voltron’s Paladins and had succeeded with most of the Alteans.

Hunk could think for himself. But he listened to Lance, and Lance’s opinion would be negative. The hatred towards the Galra would taint Keith, just like it would the Blade of Marmora. It was the same with Pidge: the Galra had kidnapped her family, and who knew what their state was? Keith had an inkling. An inkling wasn’t reassuring. 

The best--the absolute  _ best _ \--he could muster for Voltron was manipulation. He needed to sell the Galra as not really that bad, as though they were just misguided, as though there wasn’t a savage instinct to what they did. The Paladins of Voltron had spent a year and change facing down the Empire and seeing every wart that spotted the Galra’s hoary faces, and now he needed to face the Paladins and say  _ not all Galra _ .

Keith sighed. It wasn’t going to end well. But it was going to end particularly badly if that mystery Galra got to them first. He could only imagine how things would be interpreted if she told them about training sessions, sparring, and laughing during dinners with cadets. It’d make his outside form seem like his soul.

So what the fuck did he do? Lie, obviously, but he also needed to persuade the mystery Galra to stay quiet. What did he have to work with? If she’d been close to him, he could play on that friendship, but he didn’t know her. 

The door to the prison opened with a quiet hiss. Androids waited both inside and at the front. Keith hesitated, but they did nothing at his approach. Their blank faces stared out, oblivious to his passing. It would have been comforting if he’d still been in a human form. As a Galra, he felt like he waited for them to strike. 

The prisoners were huddled in cells. The bars caging them in were silent, but he saw the current’s flow in the brilliant blue. Anyone who touched the bars would find it warm; the further they pushed against the bar, the hotter it became. To try to leave would mean gouging burns. A few of the Galra that eyed him nursed blackened fur and bared greyed flesh. He didn’t meet their eyes. In his suit, he looked like just another Paladin--but his legs betrayed him. It marked him as Galra.

But everyone knew the Red Paladin was a human. The mystery Galra had made that leap to realization that something was wrong, and that something was Keith. He wished she’d been a little slower. When he spoke, it wasn’t directed at her. It was to the androids.  _ Take out prisoner number 24 and bring her to a private room. _

The other Galra looked at him in horror. Was he going to torture her? Abuse her in other ways? But to reassure them would mean weakness and open up a vulnerability. When she came back fine, they’d know Voltron wasn’t like the worst excesses of the Empire. He tried not to conspicuously examine her as she was pulled from the cell. It’d make people’s suspicions worse if they saw him eyeing her too closely.

What he saw in the metal wall’s reflection reminded him of nothing. She was a pale-furred Galra with blue eyes, a short nose, and a pair of ears that were rounded, almost like a bear’s. She wouldn’t have been thought of a a great beauty on Galra, but more the ever-loosely used word ‘cute’. At least, that’s what his assumption was: he hadn’t grown up with Galran aesthetics, only just been told he looked nice. And the mystery Galra looked almost his polar opposite. 

She didn’t struggle or yell as the androids pulled her from the cell. She didn’t fight as they led her, two androids pinning her arms, to a nearby room. But most importantly, she didn’t shout his name. The less the other captives knew about the strange Galra in the Red Paladin’s armour, the better. It meant there’d be less chance for things to go awry.

The woman was chained to a chair with the same beam of blue light. She stared him down as he took a seat opposite. The room they were in was a long rectangle; one-sided mirrors coated the walls. To onlookers inside the room, the walls were a dreary greyish white. But all around, others could watch the discussion. A long similarly rectangular table filled a fourth of the room. It was good, he thought. It gave the mystery Galra room for her own space, and it made him seem like slightly less of a threat. 

“Keith,” she said. It didn’t have yearning or confusion. The tone resembled salt flats. “You got out, then.”

Keith remained straight-backed with his helmet on. The systems in his suit projected his voice clearly--a little too clearly for his tastes, since it revealed the faint rumble to his voice that’d come with his transformation. “I did.”

“I didn’t think the Emperor would ever let you get far.” Fur rose along the back of his neck. “He liked you.”

There wasn’t time to think about a plan. He wished he’d done it before, but what would he have even devised? “He did, but you have to know that affection can cloud judgement too.”

The mystery Galra gave him a wry smile. “Even Hyladra and Kymin? Thace? Those are a lot of Galra to fool, Keith.”

_ Don’t call me that. _ He bit back the impulse to say it. “They knew I needed to leave. If they decided to ignore that, that’s their failing.” Keith placed his hands on the table. The gauntlets were pliable against the surface, and let his fingers entangle themselves without a struggle. “What is my failing is that I don’t recognize you, yet you know me. We must have met on Central Command, but I can’t place your face.”

He said nothing else--but she didn’t rush to fill the silence. She eyed his helmet before her eyes strayed down to where his legs would have been, if not for the metal table. “You don’t look like you used to. I know it has to be you, though, because who else would be the Red Paladin?” She shook her head. “Show me what you look like, and I’ll tell you who I am.”

What was the gain-loss ratio of doing that? Keith’s teeth ground together, worse for them being so sharp and pointed. She had to know for certain that he was a Galra. The legs were too much of a giveaway. But she didn’t know he looked like Keirin or Caith--not that she’d recognize either persons, he hoped. The loss would be a loss of control over the situation. The gains would be a growing bond between them and information on who she was.

He breathed deep inside his helmet and reached up to pull it off. The air was cold, even through his fur. The woman’s eyes widened; her lips pulled back, revealing knife-sharp teeth. “Oh,  _ Voice _ ,” she whispered. “You--how?”

“Your identity first.” Keith felt naked under her gaze, as though she could pry out more than he ever wanted just by a look. “It was a deal you proposed, after all.”

The Galra stared at him, her eyes foggy, as though she was worlds away. “... Tethra.” He raised a brow. “Tethra of the Danesa. I was a communications cadet on Central Command. I was friends with Elin. We--we spoke a few times.”

He didn’t remember her. What had he said to her? Had it been casual chatter, or had she caught him at a weak moment where he spilled his guts about his past to the others? He liked to think he hadn’t been too forthcoming, but he knew the effect had been cumulative. Piece by piece, the Galra around him had learned things about him. Nothing… nothing too personal. They didn’t know about his first day at the Garrison, or the day he’d applied to join. But they knew about the small things. His time at the library, his love of barbecue, his desire to explore the universe some day--those were little things he’d let slip.

Keith swallowed down panic. “... I’m sorry for not recognizing you.” That was safe, he thought. Safe, and it soothed the sting of hurt feelings that he’d been oblivious to her. “It’s--it’s been awhile since Central Command.”

“I know.” Her voice was soft, strangely so for a Galra. Her ears flattened, as though aware that things were wrong. “How did you become this? How did you get out? You’re a  _ Galra _ . Did the Emperor turn you into a Galra?”

He couldn’t give a real answer. ‘My parents were Galra and I didn’t know’ opened up ten thousand  _ other _ questions, including who those other Galra were. He could, theoretically, refuse to answer said questions, but he knew damn well that’d earn resentment and confusion. Galra didn’t like to be told ‘no’. They liked it even less when they knew the person delivering that ‘no’ was hiding something.

Keith weighed his options. It was the kind of balancing act he’d done again and again at the Palace, and he hated it just as much on the Castle. He’d escaped with the belief that the mind games would be over, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. All that’d changed was the arena and opponents. And some of them should have never been opponents.

So what should he say? “The Voice did.” Keith let that sink in: her eyes widened and her jaw loosened. “I escaped with the Red Lion.” Those were things that’d be public knowledge. It’d fit a good narrative for the Voice to have been the one who changed him: it’d make his betrayal and murder of her worse and far more provocative. He imagined the Clarion realizing that not only was the Voice dead, but one of her favoured had done it.

His gut sunk. He hadn’t thought of that before. The Clarion were going to be working alongside Zarkon, if only for the interim. From two fighting enemies, Keith had single-handedly built one far stronger. A headache jabbed at his temples. Fine, then. He was used to fucking himself over, and at least now he could take a piss without a dozen people waiting outside the door.

Tethra waited for him to spill his guts, but all he did was shrug. “Things happened. I was brought to Gal for security reasons.” He eyed her. “And you were assigned a ship afterward?”

“I was.” Tethra scrutinized him in return. “We were told you’d been moved to another station with the Clarion attack.” She visibly swallowed, a hunted look stealing over her face. “Elin was in medical care. They told me that she and Hyladra would be okay. I--I believed them.” The words almost echoed in the room. “I didn’t think you’d escape.” The hunted look didn’t fade, though it turned furtively hesitant. “... Did you hurt Hyladra?”

The instinct to say no was overshadowed by the knowledge that he  _ had _ hurt her. In fact, he’d hurt her the most. He’d drugged her, killed her goddess, and spat on the bond she’d formed for his sake. She was still in his mind, though Red and Terava kept the howling pain suppressed, alongside her cries.

What pain was she feeling? He knew there’d be Druids around her, but how fast would it take them to realize they could still manipulate quintessence--thus releasing her from the bond? His guilt prickled over his skin like little pins. He’d fucked up. He knew that. But every moment he was away, he realized by another degree how  _ bad _ it was. 

“She’s fine.” The words tasted like blood in his mouth. He’d spilled so much, he thought, to return to a warfront. “I know she’s important to you--she’s close to Elin--but it’s not why I came to talk to you.”

Tethra frowned. “... No, I didn’t think it was. You weren’t very open on Central Command, and you didn’t strike me as the kind to want to reach out to those you don’t know.”

Ouch. Keith bit back a grimace. She wasn’t wrong. How did he bring up what he wanted to say? He considered Tethra. She was a friend of Elin’s, a Galra loyal to the Empire, and believed in Zarkon’s mission enough to sign on to the army’s rosters. How could he convince her to say nothing about what he’d done?

“I’m shy,” he said. It was a lie--he just didn’t see a reason to speak as much as everyone else did. He tried to make his voice heartfelt. “It’s--it’s nothing against those around me, not you oor Elin or anyone else. There are… things I said on Central Command that I said believing no one else would hear them.” He forced a fake swallow and averted his eyes. The fur on the nape of his neck stood on end. “I know you were around for some of it. You wouldn’t have said anything about me otherwise. We’re on opposite sides of this war now. I know that. But I want to ask you not to say anything about what happened to the other Paladins.”

Tethra’s brows rose, but she said nothing as he continued. “They don’t need to know about where I come from. They don’t need to know about--about what I made of being captured.” A flush burned beneath his fur, and his head felt light. “I value the time I spent with people like you and Hyladra. I do. But to use that against me would be dishonourable.”

There. That was the angle to take. Part of him felt satisfied he’d tied it into Galran culture. It was dishonourable to use personal information and relationships against the enemy. She didn’t know the extent to which he’d fucked over the Galra, but that didn’t matter. She could start spilling her experiences when they were long gone. 

Tethra smiled. Relief spread over Keith. She wouldn’t spill things, then.

“It would be dishonourable,” she said, “but you did something, didn’t you? Hyladra isn’t here. Our eyes are changed. You’re back with your Paladins, and you did  _ something _ to get out. You’ve always thought yourself a good man, but you were able to sit with Galra after massacring us weeks before. And I’ve seen you fight, Keith. You aren’t above fighting dishonourably.”

It was the worst kind of ‘no’ he could have got.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Next update is July 29th!~~
> 
> Update moved to the 1st of August! I'm a bit behind in an original project and need to catch up on that.


	7. Chapter 7

What did he say to ‘no’, let alone the kind of ‘no’ he’d received? Keith stared at Tethra. She didn’t look happy or pleased. She looked resigned and tired, especially when she averted her eyes to look at the metal wall behind him. The knowledge that he’d done  _ something _ wrong hadn’t blessed her with righteousness. It’d given her fear and exhaustion. 

Keith wished he could have assured her otherwise about her assumptions, but he’d hurt, killed, and culturally maimed the Galra. “It’s your decision,” Keith said quietly, “but a year from now, when you look back, you’re going to wish you’d chose differently. I do what I do to help people, Tethra. And by doing this, you’re stopping that.”

Tethra shook her head. “Righteousness belongs to the Empire and Emperor. You disobeyed his will and the Voice’s: whatever you’ve done, it is not for the best of the Empire.”

But it was for the best of the Galra. He couldn’t say it--Tethra had to know he was thinking it, though. Keith forced a half-smile and shrugged. “When the year’s over, we can talk again.”  _ And you’ll be apologizing to me for this _ . It was spiteful to think and made him look like a jackass, but it was true. He’d endured too much to lose in the end. Whether it was his teammates’ leeriness, his tattered loyalties, or his mutilated form: it didn’t matter. Tethra had made things harder, but not impossible.

He’d thought escaping Gal would be impossible, but then the Blade had reached out. He’d thought he could never mimic a proper temple tender, let alone infiltrate the Clarion. The only question was what would he lose this time. A limb? His mind? His life? There was so much to still lose, and he didn’t doubt the war would take it from him. 

He considered the situation in an ever-stretching silence. Tethra spoke softly. “We can, if you’re not dead.” She looked just as unsettled as he felt at her saying that. “I--” She cut off, shaking her head.

“You’re expecting me to lash out,” Keith mused. Tethra blinked at him. “Maybe threaten violence. You know me from Central Command, Tethra. I can fight--but I didn’t have much interest in fighting the Galra around me, did I? There were those who hated me and were vocal and I didn’t do a thing.” His lips twitched to a weak smile but were pulled back down by the morose feeling that plagued him. “You’ll fight dishonourably and justify it as for the greater good, just like I justified escaping. But I won’t hurt you: not like you will me.”

Tethra’s ears flattened. “This isn’t… I have my loyalties. You yourself said this would hurt your position. As you’re an enemy of the Empire, it becomes my duty to destroy you.” Her eyes fell to the table. “... I don’t want to talk anymore.”

He wasn’t lucky enough for her to mean about his past. What mattered, though, was that he’d instilled a sense of reluctance to take advantage of what she knew. It’d been heavy-handed, but the Galra weren’t manipulative enough, as a species, to really see it as anything other than a flat statement. He’d fucked up in the first half, yes. The second half, he’d improved. Whether that’d save him, well, that was a whole other thing. He didn’t wait for her to reply: the more she vocalized opposition, the more settled she’d become in it. The androids escorted her back into her cell as Keith left the holding area. He found himself trapped in his own thoughts, as he usually was. 

Right now, his biggest problem wasn’t Zarkon or the oncoming invasion due to the Voice’s death. It was his relationship with the other members of Voltron. He wouldn’t call it a  _ complete _ disaster by any means. The longer he was on the Castle, the more divisions appeared in the ‘front’ of hatred for him.

Pidge and Hunk were wary, but didn’t hate him. Lance was Lance, and Allura’s trauma would likely make her uncomfortable for a while yet. Shiro was on his side--even if the man didn’t feel like he could actively advocate for Keith without causing more trouble. Was that true, though? Keith leaned toward it being so. Lance already believed he was competing with Keith for Shiro’s attention and approval. Shiro siding with Keith when Keith was  _ questionable _ was a declaration of more than Keith being Shiro’s friends. It was a declaration that Lance’s opinion wasn’t good enough; it didn’t matter what Lance thought or suspected when Keith contradicted him. Add in resentment about Keith not having escaped sooner, of having to pick up the slack while Keith lounged on Gal, whatever fantasy Lance had conjured up about how Keith had been treated--well, it could get ugly. 

Lance would never refuse to pilot Blue. What he could do, though, was subconsciously create rifts between the cohesion needed to form Voltron. Together, they would be slower, weaker, less agile. Keith wondered, at that moment, if they’d even be able to form Voltron. He needed to fix that. So what was his plan of attack?

He needed to work on Hunk and Pidge. Allura needed time for herself; Lance was too stubborn to give without peer pressure. Coran… Keith didn’t know what Coran thought. He hadn’t shown any hostility to Keith. He’d even smiled at him, albeit a small tilt of the lips. Who did Coran have pull with? Allura, obviously, but he also worked with Pidge and Hunk. If Keith laid the groundwork, he could have Coran shore it up.

Hunk didn’t want to hate him. Neither did Pidge. What angles for them? He knew Pidge’s family was alive and safe, and he still had Zarkon’s promise to give them back. Should he be honest that he hadn’t pressed after the promise? Logic said no. She’d be angry with him. But then she’d ask, inevitably, why he hadn’t got them saved. The answer was uncomfortable.

He’d been afraid of pushing Zarkon. He was afraid Zarkon would shift the goalposts further, or become annoyed, thus losing Keith leverage in influence. It’d been cowardly--strategic, but cowardly. He should have pushed. He should have demanded the Holts. But hindsight was 20/20. There’d been so much happening, so many  _ threats _ , that the Holts had fallen to the wayside.

Excuses, excuses. There wasn’t anything to really say for it. He’d fucked up. Hunk would have to come first: he could give a better idea of how Pidge felt and how best to approach her. But then… Then if he didn’t tell Pidge immediately, they’d ask why he hadn’t said anything. There was no  _ good _ answer. Pidge or Hunk?

Pidge. She’d be angry, but he’d endured worse. It was the evening, slightly late, but she’d be up for a while yet working on things. Cornering her in private would make him look bad, like he was trying to manipulate or pressure her--but then doing it in front of everyone was also manipulative, and Lance might have something to say as well. By a few degrees, private was better. It couldn’t be worse than if Lance got involved. 

He visited the Blades first. Neither of them looked pleased. Regris had donned a blanket over his shoulders, almost like a cloak, and focused on a tablet he’d secreted away. Whether he was reviewing information or simply playing games, Keith couldn’t tell. Regris’ degree of focus was almost unsettling by times. Ulaz sat at a table, a pair of dishes in front of him. 

It was the same meal that’d been served to the others. They’d been picked over, judged, and found wanting: the meat had been devoured, the vegetables discarded, and the foam Hunk had delightfully whipped had been scraped off and deposited in a dollop on the vegetables. Keith pursed his lips as he examined the mess. If Hunk saw it, he’d be upset. Annoyed, yes, but mostly worried that his cooking was somehow not up to Galran par. The idea that his cooking--delicious, praised, enjoyed by all humans and Alteans who’d ever eaten it--might be repellant to someone else… That was dangerous. Keith looked over at the two who were watching in him in turn. “You’re done with it?” he asked.

Regris grimaced but said nothing. Ulaz laughed softly, almost turning it into a sigh. “The meat was good. You’ve seen the rest.”

Vegetables were meant for stews, mash, and crispy crunching against the teeth. Hunk had roasted the vegetables. They were soft where they shouldn’t be and crisp on the outside. Delicious to a human. Less so for a Galra unused to the diversity of human cuisine. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Keith said. He lifted the cool plate in his hands. His stomach tightened at the prospect of more food, but he ignored it. “You’re comfortable otherwise?” Beds had been moved in to the room, but they weren’t the kind of warm comfort that they’d be used to, even among the Blades’ rough circumstances.

Ulaz and Regris shared a look whose message was in the eyes. Keith couldn’t read it. Regris spoke this time. “It’s sufficient. What we were wondering about is, ah… about bathing amenities. We’re used to having to use sand and the sun, but there are neither available. I imagine--from what I know of humans and Alteans--that there are water facilities?”

Which wouldn’t be good without a Galran-grade dryer. Fuck. That wasn’t just going to be a problem for the Blades either. Keith was covered in fur that was several magnitudes thicker. Ulaz had short fur, and Regris veered into scales by time, similar to Zarkon. They could survive with enough adaptation. But Keith? Keith was going to end up a mouldy, musty mess unless he convinced Hunk, Pidge, and Coran to work together to make something to help.

It was just another reason to talk to them. Maybe they’d even be able to pick up some sand bath facilities. It’d annoy Allura, he didn’t doubt that, but if Keith was going to be stuck as a Galra, he wasn’t going to look like a matted rat while doing so. 

“For now,” Keith said. “I’ll have something up running by tomorrow morning.” He’d build it himself if he had to. “Do you need more blankets?”

Regris shook his head. “There are more beneath the bed, and I promise, Keith, that we’ve slept in far worse.” He eyed the plates. “And eaten far worse as well. Give my compliments to the chef.” 

It was gentle and kind. They didn’t mean Hunk ill by not eating his food. It was just a little like trying to feed a shark vegetables. Keith left them to settle into beds, taking the empty plate as well. He wondered if they’d sleep after the day they’d had. Everything had moved so  _ fast _ . There’d been no time to breathe. The adrenaline had run low by now, leaving only exhaustion, but things were not done yet. He’d have to keep moving so the crash didn’t pull him down to sleep. The leftovers would hopefully help, even as he struggled to down the vegetables.

He’d have loved them if he was human. He’d loved all of Hunk’s cooking. After years of cafeteria food at the Garrison, greasy diner food with Shiro, and the school lunch-like meals of the orphanage, Hunk’s cooking tasted like how he’d always imagined a five star restaurant being like. He tried to bite back the frustration at that being taken away. It was just one thing among many that tormented him.

The Paladins had dispersed after the meal. The kitchen was silent, as were the halls. Keith frowned as he ate, digging through his memory. Hunk and Pidge were usually in the vicinity of each other. Whenever one got stuck, they’d bounce ideas off each other. Pidge would be in the mechanical bowels of the ship. Hunk would likely be working to improve one function or another nearby. Coran wouldn’t be working, Keith decided. Allura needed him more. 

Keith left the empty plates in the kitchen sink. The machines in the kitchen would detect them and clean them without any help. As he walked the halls, aiming for an elevator, he kept an eye out for Lance and Shiro. Lance, so he could dodge him, and Shiro because every time he saw Shiro, he felt a bit better.

Someone was training. He heard the sounds before he saw them. They were cries, snarls, and shouts, too high to be Shiro or Hunk, but too loud to be Allura, too low to be Pidge. It was a simple process of elimination. Keith came to a stop and almost swore. Lance was training, and he sounded less than happy.

Keith didn’t need to guess that it was likely to be about him. So much of Lance’s displeasure ended up directed at Keith. It made the open doorway a danger. If Lance saw Keith, would Lance confront him again? And worse--if he confronted Keith, what would he do? He could claim anything to the others, and it’d worsen Keith’s situation. Did Lance have that kind of malice, though? Keith was used to viperish Galra who’d lash out when angry. But Lance was bound by human social mores. Attacking Keith for just passing through made  _ him _ look bad. And was Lance even the type to lie about who attacked first? 

Keith waited for Lance to lunge into a series of attacks against the android before he dared pass the doorway. He caught a glimpse, from the corner of his eye, of a blue blur. Lance didn’t notice him--or didn’t feel it necessary to chase after Keith. Keith was too trapped in his circling thoughts to care much beyond a relaxing of his shoulders.

Keith didn’t remember much about Lance. He hadn’t been pretending or lying when they’d met, though Keith suspected the others believed he had been. The people at the Garrison had never been his friends. Acquaintances, yes, and some he’d thought of as peers, but not friends. Friends implied a rapport. Keith had entered the Garrison as the loner from a poor background. So many of those who’d joined the Garrison already knew each other, or at least  _ of _ each other. Poverty was a hindrance: he didn’t have the special opportunities or education the others had received. Not all of them were elites, but almost all of them had never had to worry about their next meal or wipe away their own tears.

Had Keith resented that? By times. He’d been unimpressed by the complaints and homesickness, though he’d known then it’d been unfair. The thoughts were kept to himself, even when the divisions appeared in his year’s unit. Keith hadn’t possessed the brilliance of Pidge or Hunk, didn’t have the charisma of Shiro, didn’t have the sociability of Lance, but he was smart in another way. He had instincts; he had resilience.

So many Garrison students failed a single test and spiralled. Keith was used to failure, though. He was used to being seen as a fuck up. When he failed a simulator test, it washed over him like water, never sticking for more than a minute. He’d study, practice, study some more, and try again. Keith never made revolutionary projects, nor did he rewrite regulations by his sheer brilliance. What mattered was that he got good grades and aced the simulations.  _ Consistency _ mattered. And that had got him to the top of the fighter pilot class. Salma might be able to list off every regulation ever written about flying, Artag could judge dives like no one else, and Ramata could predict every juke and feint the opponent could do.

None of them could fly like Keith. It was arrogant to think, but the scores proved it. They all had talents and specializations, and Keith’s had been in the pilot’s seat. He dove almost as well as Artag; he could  _ feel _ what people planned as he chased them. The currents of air and the velocity of motion--those were the languages he knew. He’d never bragged. Everyone had known anyway.

A few asked for help. He gave it where he could, though he refused to get close. That refusal to get close had, on reflection, been the culprit of the subsequent hate. People assumed he thought he was better than them. They projected the worst on to him--some of which, Keith suspected, came from what they would have done if they’d been in his position. 

Lance. His distant memories said that Lance had been an aggressively competitive student, one who’d failed a simulator and never quite recovered. It was understandable, in a way--the simulator had been one of the entrance exams that sorted students into prospective classes. He’d scored in the bottom echelons of the fighter class. Keith remembered his haggard expression as he watched others test, slowly but surely bumping him down the list--and then, finally, into cargo pilot class. It’d been a matter of one person scoring higher than him. 

Lance had decided that one person was Keith. He’d been at the top of the list, and that made him Lance’s enemy. Keith had stolen his spot in the fighter pilot program. Lance had made a single mistake, he’d say, and if it hadn’t been for that, Lance would have easily dethroned Keith. It was an alternate reality that Keith had always felt bemused by. If Lance hadn’t blown the first simulation from nerves, he might have made it to the lower levels of pilot class.  

Might have. Not a guarantee. Lance had guts and the basics, but he didn’t know how to handle the speed he wanted and he didn’t know how to judge his ship’s limits. His ability to choke was another problem, as was his arrogance. For a cargo pilot, he’d had tight regulations and instructions. As a fighter pilot, he needed to be able to make things up as he went. Keith had never seen Lance in a fighter pilot simulation since the entrance exams, but he doubted Lance’s attitude had improved.

Except, maybe, since he’d joined Voltron. Lance’s talents had become a bit more apparent, even if he was annoying. 

He found Pidge outside a series of weapons rooms. Inside, laser banks powered up, charging themselves in readiness for the Castle’s next fight. Pidge hunched over a computer, her fingers pattering over keys. Her eyes were glued to the screen, and occasionally she’d mouth a word or two, furrow her brow, and lean closer to the screen as she typed. It was the kind of single-minded focus that had caused their fight. She knew what she wanted, and she was driven enough to get it no matter what. 

She’d been convinced by circumstance and Shiro to stay the first time. What would she do if he said her family was alive, that Zarkon had promised them to Keith, and that they had to be somewhere in a nearby system from Gal? The Holts were valuable. Zarkon wouldn’t have put the pair on a remote planet when he might need them at a moment’s notice. If Keith fucked up in the conversation, she’d go straight for the Green Lion and leave them all right there. Worse: she might advocate to the others that they needed to turn back, wormhole into the systems around Gal, and search for her family. Pidge was clever, but she was young and she was impatient. 

She didn’t notice him enter. He was still in his armour, but the structure of his legs meant that he walked silently. He stopped a table away and forced himself to speak. “Pidge, you have a moment?”

Pidge startled. Her amber eyes widened, even as her shoulders shrank. She looked around for some sort a distraction she could cling to. There wasn’t anything. “... A few minutes, sure.” She didn’t close her laptop. Instead, she angled the screen so that she could still watch it while pretending to look across at someone opposite.

Keith hoped she just watched her screen the entire time. He abandoned the table to sit on the couch opposite Pidge. The armour dug into his lower back, while his neck ached from being stuck erect for so many hours. The Castle had made the suit to his body’s specifications, but it wasn’t a replacement for Galran tailoring. The Castle had taken his angles and measurements literally; a Galran tailor knew how to grant give where the body would need it and cushioning at the worst points.

Pidge wore her Earth clothes, but her expression had none of the relaxation. “What did you want to talk about?”

“About your family.” Pidge froze. There was no point in dancing around the topic. He’d committed to this. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, so this isn’t… it’s not all good news.”

Pidge turned ashen. “Are they--”

“No. Not dead.” Keith leaned forward and tried to school his face into something calm and friendly. What did that look like on a Galran face? He tried to remember what Elin had always looked like. “They’re alive, and Zarkon owes me their safety. I made a deal with him, one he never fulfilled his side though I did mine.”

Pure hope filled her face. “What was the deal? Where are they?”

He needed to be careful. If he gave her too much hope, it’d backfire. “He asked me to find an internal enemy--one that wouldn’t work with Voltron but hated Zarkon.” He swallowed. “In return, he offered your brother and father. They’re alive, and I’m positive they’re somewhere near Gal’s system.”

“We need to go there--”

Keith shook his head. His ears flopped. “We’ll be captured and your family will be moved to another place.” She stared at him. “But when we next meet Zarkon, I can push for him to complete the deal. He’s a monster, but he’s a monster of his word. And if he isn’t, we know where to search for information on your family’s location.”

A flush spread over Pidge’s face. It wasn’t embarrassment: it was frustration. “What if he moves them?”

“Why would he?” Keith countered. “The only enemies who ever came close to Gal were internal. The Holts aren’t on the Blades’ radar. If the Castle had appeared, he’d move them in a heartbeat. We’d get  _ one _ chance. One chance that’d have a high chance of us getting captured. I only escaped Gal because of the Blades and I was captive for more than a year.”

Her eyes were glassy, but it wasn’t grief but rage. In seconds, she wiped the beading tears away “What if he makes an example out of them?”

_ Zarkon didn’t do that. _ That was wrong, though. “I’ve spent a lot of time with him, Pidge. He won’t touch them. They’re still leverage, and he’s got bigger problems that a bit of revenge with the Voice dead and me back with you guys.” Keith leaned forward, offering a hand. He wasn’t wearing gauntlets. Pidge looked at his furred and clawed hand and turned her gaze away.

Ouch. He withdrew his hand. “I know you want to go straight to them. I don’t--it’s not like before. I’m not angry about that. If I thought we could get them, I’d be telling Coran to turn the Castle around. But we don’t know the precise planet. When we do know, though? I’ll be right there with Red.”

It was a promise he could keep. He wanted the Holts to be found--not just for Pidge’s sake either. Commander Holt and Matt likely hadn’t got the treatment Keith had. They’d been treated far worse. Keith had been coddled. He couldn’t imagine what kind of damage their captivity had wreaked on their minds and bodies. Keith had failed to save them once already. He wouldn’t fail again.

Pidge stared at the table between them. “It has to be soon.”

“It will be.” Keith kept watching her. Her lip didn’t quiver, and he didn’t see more tears. There was a starkness to her: a little wasteland of what had once been. Had she been a happy child before losing her family? Keith tried to imagine her playing tag or goofing off with others around a pool, but the image was… awkward. It fit her like a decade-old coat. Maybe when she’d been very young. Now, though, she felt too old for her sixteen years. 

It reminded him of himself, from before Shiro. Had she been as isolated as him? It’d explain her skills. At the Garrison, he’d been surrounded by prodigies, but Pidge was beyond that. To call her a wunderkind put it mildly. She’d developed advanced systems that would have sent her colleagues a-gog. Fifteen and developing invisibility systems. Yes, she’d had Altean tech--but it said something that she’d taken to it so eagerly.

Pidge was still a kid. Keith didn’t delude himself into thinking otherwise. Expecting her to react with the maturity of an adult was unwise. At this moment, though, she displayed an immense amount of maturity. The crackling fire that she’d wreathed herself in when they’d fought the first time was now tempered by more than a year in space, hunting for and hunted by the Galra. When Keith said it wasn’t possible to find her family right now, she listened.

And if Keith was honest, he listened to her too. Did he regret how he’d spoken to Pidge when he’d wanted to leave? He did. It’d been anger not just at how selfish he’d thought she was being, but also at his lack of control over the situation. Pidge had wanted to leave for her own ends--and Keith hadn’t been able to do a thing about it. He’d be stuck in space, mired in a war that was vital, while Pidge vanished to waste time.

He’d known she’d return. She wouldn’t find her family in the vastness of the universe, and her best chance at finding them was with Voltron. But he’d worried about what would happen to her, what would happen to Voltron while they couldn’t form one of the only two weapons they had, and what would happen to those who remained and fought. Shiro could die. They could lose a Lion to the Galra. The Castle could fall, along with their ability to travel vast distances quickly. 

There’d been so many risks. He hadn’t known how to handle that kind of desperate anger and fear. That control wasn’t perfect now, but it was better. He straightened on the couch. “Sorry for disturbing you,” he said. He didn’t feel particularly sorry, but it was the polite thing to say. He’d learned that at the Palace. “I know this isn’t the kind of news you’d want--”

Pidge shook her head violently. Shorn-short brown hair went askew. “I’d want to know. If you hadn’t told me, I’d be--I’d be mad.” 

That removed some of the weight on Keith’s shoulders. He’d been right to say something. It wasn’t a difficult guess to think she’d be angry at him hiding things, but unlike with Tethra, he hadn’t fucked things up in the process. She’d accepted the truth, ignored his less than stellar diligence in taking Zarkon to task, and hadn’t wanted the Castle to bolt back into the abyss. His measures of ‘success’ had sunk greatly, admittedly.

Hunk walked out from one of the nearby rooms as he and Pidge sat in silence. His brows instantly rose, and a pensive look stole over his features. “Uh… Am I interrupting something?”

Keith watched Pidge. If he said Hunk was interrupting, it’d seem confrontational from him; if he said Hunk wasn’t, Hunk would be suspicious. “We were just talking about something that happened to Keith,” Pidge said. She sounded exhausted.

That exhaustion made Hunk narrow his eyes at Keith. “And what was that?” Hunk blinked, as though realizing how he was coming across. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, Pidge.”

Her eyes drifted closed. Keith could almost feel the deep breath she took to steel herself. “It’s my family.”

Hunk’s eyes widened. “ _ Oh _ . They’re--?”

“Alive,” Keith supplied after a moment of silence. “But still prisoners. Zarkon used them in a bargain with me, and I’m still trying to collect.” A white lie. He hadn’t pursued the Holts until now. Hunk didn’t need to know that, though, and Pidge didn’t have the will to correct him. She was too tired. 

Hunk breathed out a relief sigh. “That’s better than what we had. There’s no way he’s going to give us Sam and Matt, though. It’s  _ Zarkon _ .”

Pidge looked away. Keith didn’t doubt she felt the same, but there was no way to really reassure either of them. All he could reply with as a shrug. “It’s still worth trying,” he said quietly.

Hunk examined him. There was something opaque about the expression. “You think Zarkon can be negotiated with?”

It wasn’t as judging as it could have sounded. It was hesitant, though. “I think he’s got ideas about how things were like on Gal. We can use those expectations to our advantage.”

“And what are those ideas and expectations?” Hunk leaned against the wall, arms crossing. “This seems like a stretch, Keith.”

He was using Keith’s name. That was a good sign. It emphasized that Pidge and Hunk knew him before the change. Keith needed them to remember that when he spoke about Zarkon. 

“Zarkon thought we had agreements,” Keith said. “About not escaping, about handing over rebel factions, that kind of stuff. In his eyes, we worked together. In mine, I was surviving.” Liar, liar, his mind chanted, but it was a necessary lie. An almost-white lie. “Zarkon puts a lot of stock in agreements. He doesn’t make them lightly, and Galran society demands that he uphold his word.”

Hunk squinted at him. “... You broke your word.”

Beneath his fur, blood drained from his face. It shouldn’t have struck him so deeply, but it did. Maybe it was because he’d spent so much time around the Galra--their beliefs had infected him, and the idea that he’d broken his word hurt, even if it’d never stop him from doing what he had to. He swallowed before he spoke, leaning back as though unbothered by the accusation.

“A prisoner,” he said quietly, “doesn’t have honour. We have survival. Zarkon knew he couldn’t trust me, but he chose to anyway. He won’t blame me but himself and those he had guarding me. If I remind him of his promise, it becomes a matter of  _ his _ honour. He values that more than sending out a few barbs at someone he captured.”

There’d been gentlemen’s agreements in older wars. He’d read about high-ranking captives being given freedom to wander villages and towns, of them being able to stay in comfortable settings as their lower-ranking compatriots were housed in cells. The captives agreed, on their honour, that they would not escape. And to enforce that, if the well-treated captive escaped to their home country, their home country would send them right back to the arms of the enemy.

Keith could understand, theoretically, why it was done. Honour mattered in war. It protected people, including civilians. It was a social construct that fuelled wars, yesl. Slights and insults were attacks on honour, encouraging blows--but it also meant that soldiers might hesitate to attack children or ransack buildings. For the captives, their honourable word let them enjoy privileges similar to what they had at home. Someone breaking their word impugned on their compatriots’ well-being. 

Keith had done that. If any of the Paladins were captured, they would not be treated as well as Keith was. He’d been lucky in the first place that none of the rebels, Blades or Voltron, cared for the old dictates of war. Him breaking his word only meant that blackmailing might be difficult. Keith wondered if Voltron--if the other races oppressed by the Galra through the universe--even believed that Galra  _ could _ have honour, let alone Zarkon possessing it. He doubted any of them did. Maybe it was too selective, or maybe Zarkon was of an older breed in more than just age.

“If you say so,” Hunk replied, but doubt wreaked havoc on the words. “I’m just surprised you escaped. No offense.”

Gal was the most fortified planet in the universe, he’d been surrounded by spies and guards, and Zarkon himself had watched Keith. He shook his head. “I’m grateful,” he said, “but it was unexpected.” He stood, careful not to emphasis his strange legs by stretching or anything else. “I wish I’d come back as myself. I know how unsettling this is for you.”

How much of that did he mean? Not in the words themselves, as he did wish for his human form back and he did know how unsettling things were for them. But did he mean the almost-apology? DId he care, at the core, for what either of them thought--beyond what that meant for his own position, and the functioning of Voltron? The answers to those questions unsettled him almost as much as the pelt he wore. 

Pidge didn’t smile; she gave a half-hearted nod. Hunk, though, was more engaging. “Yeah, it’s a bit weird.” He wiped his hands on a rag. His skin was stained by oil. “No one thought you were an alien, let alone a Galra.” He leaned forward a bit, his eyes drifting down to Keith’s legs. “... Did you know?”

Anger came, but it was pointless anger. He smiled through it. “I had no idea,” he said. “I always thought I was human. I mean, why would I have thought otherwise?”

Hunk’s brow knitted. “No hints? Like a hankering for uncooked meat, or too strong hearing or smell? What about, y’know, the green blood thing?”

“No,” Keith said. He kept his tone even, though heat demanded to enter his voice. “I was changed into a human by my mother. She was a Druid.”

Hunk frowned. “Okay, but why? She couldn’t just keep you on Gal?” The frown deepened. “What about your dad?”

Thace. He was pretty sure they weren’t on speaking terms. Should he say that? The awful part of him knew it’d make him look better to the other Paladins. He’d betrayed his father to kill the Voice. His mother had fled because Keith’s existence, even as a fetus, was illegal. 

He should share the information. He needed to be honest as much as possible and white lie with the rest. It’d help his position, the Blades, and any future alliances with Galra dissidents. But Keith stood there and didn’t know how to say his mother had died in childbirth, bleeding out as she hobbled after a human family to give her baby to. She’d used her last remaining quintessence to save her child. 

Why? Why had she carried him? Why had she died for him? Those were personal angsts, he knew. To share them was inappropriate and counter-productive. So he let his smile dim and spoke. “My father is a soldier for Zarkon. Since I killed the Voice, I don’t think he’d like to be called ‘my father’. As for my mother, it was and is illegal for Druids to have children.”  _ I don’t know why she didn’t abort me _ , but to say that would be strange and guilting.  “Why it was illegal, I don’t know either. It might have been a matter of controlling who can manipulate quintessence and their allegiances to the Voice and Galra.”

“You speak different,” Hunk mused. Keith stiffened. “I’m not saying it’s bad, Keith. It’s weird, but not bad. I guess none of us should be surprised that things changed in you. Things changed for us too.” He contemplated Keith. “We should talk. Privately. No offense, Pidge.”

She shrugged. “I want to work,” she said, voice wobbling only slightly. “... Thank you for telling me about them, Keith.”

Keith didn’t know what to do other than force a smile. When Hunk motioned to the engine room he’d come from, Keith went without complaint. He did go with apprehension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Next update is the 11th of August!~~
> 
>  
> 
> ~~S7 happened instead! Update moved to the 14th, as I have a medical appointment on the 13th.~~
> 
> And now Battle for Azeroth has happened, so update sent to the 21st. The chapter will be in the range of 10k to make up for this!


	8. Chapter 8

The engine room hummed. It was a long rectangle, one that stretched out to a railed ledge. Along the sides, computers and whirring machines crouched in shadows. Some of the screens reflected Altean screensavers--visions of lush forests and strange creatures he’d never seen before and likely never would in person. Keith’s feet clacked against the tile despite his efforts to stifle the sound.

The railing overlooked a world of glowing blue light. Energy pumped through tubes, fuelling the Castle’s every movement. The intensity hurt his eyes, but Keith was too fascinated to look away. After so long on Gal, he’d almost forgotten how bright and intense anything but red, black, and white could be. Even Gal’s skies had been a powdery, washed-out blue. 

“Are the other engines like this?” Keith asked softly.

Hunk stood beside him, closer than Keith had expected he would. “Sometimes they’re white, but that’s because they burn cooler than this.” He was still wiping his hands, which made Keith think it was a nervous tick. “The Castle’s so far beyond anything we have on Earth.”

_ We _ . Keith tried not to puff up at that. “They’ve had a few more tens of thousands years. Pretty sure if you and Pidge had that kind of time, we’d have things like this.” Was that too much kissing up?

Hunk’s lips twitched. “You’ve learned how to pay a compliment,” he said. Keith flushed and looked away. “It’s not bad, Keith. It’s  _ normal _ . Would have been better to learn with us, but you can actually speak to people now. Without glowering or brooding, I mean.”

Hunk was nervous. He spoke quickly and rambled. Keith didn’t know what to make of it. “You learn to be polite when people can take away your food and water.”

Hunk deflated. “... I guess that’s more accurate than just--learning how to be with people.” He frowned at the blue light below. “I don’t hate you. I feel like I should say that because we didn’t put out the welcome wagon, and some of us were less than friendly.”

“Lance,” Keith said. He didn’t blame Allura for her reaction. It hurt, he didn’t deserve it, he’d done nothing against any Alteans, but her people had been murdered by his. The Galran Empire had slaughtered the Alteans, gathered the remnants from across the universe, and caged them in a roaming colony. 

Shayan had been working against Zarkon. That said everything Keith needed to know about the current state of the remaining Alteans. It was survivable--but that was it. 

Hunk grimaced. “Lance, yeah. He’s a problem.” He blinked. “Don’t tell him I put it like that. But he doesn’t like you, never has, and that’s causing problems. Do you think we could form Voltron right now?”

“No,” Keith said. He let his hands rest on the cool metal railing. “Lance hates me, Pidge I think has mixed feelings, and you--I don’t know about you.”

“It’s not simple.” Hunk looked him over. “I don’t hate you. I was leery, but you haven’t  _ done _ anything. You’ve just changed a bit. And you killed the Voice, killed off your relationship with your dad, and you were a prisoner. You’re not some sort of threat.”

The words came out as a barrage. He was more nervous than Keith had guessed. The silence that spread as Hunk stared out at the blue found itself interrupted by a faint hissing. Hydraulics helped the passage of the blue energy. Keith frowned down at a thin tangle of tubes that led into an artery of of the wider machine.

He tried to think of what to say. What came to him was simple. “It’s a relief to hear that from someone,” Keith said. “I don’t  _ like _ being a Galra. It’s not self-hatred. I don’t think I’m evil. But this isn’t who I am. I couldn’t say that on Gal, but I can say it here. I miss being human; I miss being  _ me _ .” He held his hands out, fingers crooked. Dark pads coated his fingers, plush and warm. “I’ve been a Galra for a year, but it’s never felt natural. Even when they were showing me what what Galra are like without the Voice or Emperor--it never felt right.”

Yet he’d loved some of the Galra he met. Kymin, Hyladra, Volux, Thace, Elin, those at the temple--for all their misguided loyalties, they’d thrown him parties, taught him the language of his people’s culture, and cared for him. Oh, they’d all been more than friends. Some of them had been targets and marks. Others, family and friends. But it’d meant something, he thought, to have spoken to them and laugh alongside them.

He didn’t know how to say that to Hunk or anyone else who hadn’t been near him on Central Command or Gal. Even though he  _ knew _ he should say something. Tethra was going to say what he’d done, and she’d do it in the ugliest, worst way. She didn’t know what he’d done to Gal or the Voice, but she knew he’d done  _ something _ , and that was what mattered. He should never have spoken to her. He knew that now. It’d baited her into lashing out. 

He closed his eyes. It was vulnerable, but he needed to prepare people for what the Galra would say. If it wasn’t Tethra, it was going to be Hyladra. “It was a strange situation,” he started, voice rough.

Hunk turned his head to look at Keith. “Being a prisoner’s never easy.”

It was meant as a gentle piece of comfort. It stung instead. “It isn’t. But Zarkon had bigger plans than just caging me away.” Hunk’s expression turned wary. “He wanted me to become friends with other Galra. I think he believed that’d make me reluctant to fight back or escape.”

“Didn’t work, did it? Voice is dead and you’re here.”

A smile flickered over Keith’s face. “You’re not wrong, in a way. But there are going to be Galra with stories and beliefs about what happened. Some think I was their friend. Others saw me with Galra where I didn’t fight back. But it was about survival. They don’t get that.” Keith let his hands rest on the railing. “They see things on the surface. I spoke with someone, so I must like them, and since I must like them, that means I’ve got tangled loyalties. And I know--I  _ know _ that’s going to be a problem if Lance or Allura hear from those people.”

Hunk eyed him. It wasn’t worse than his usual suspicion. “What kind of things did you do with them?”

He didn’t mean anything by it. Hunk always wanted to know what was happening, and he was, by nature, cautious. So Keith forced his expression to something neutral, shoved gentleness into his voice, and spoke with the same caution that Hunk was showing. “Flight simulations, for one. They have extensive facilities on Central Command. I had a tutor in Galran: Red helped me speak the language, but it didn’t help with reading. One time, they even threw a birthday party as they guessed I was turning twenty at that time.”

“And you enjoyed it.”

Keith didn’t flinch. “I spent several weeks during my first time in captivity locked in a room, sick from the Red Lion’s distance. It was like a fever beyond anything I’ve ever endured. I thought I might die. When they let me roam Central Command, Hunk, there was nothing I wanted  _ less _ than to be caged away again.”

“... People need people.” A hand touched his shoulder. It was heavy and warm. “I know you’re a bit of a loner, but there’s a reason why solitary confinement is so awful. So I guess--I guess what I mean to say is that I’m glad you got out.” He paused, thinking. “What’s a Galran party like, though?”

Keith pursed his lips. “Odd. Familiar, but still odd. There was food and dancing, but none of it’s Earth-like.”

“ _ Dancing? _ You have to tell me more.”

He had a choice now. He would describe the reedy dancing that’d happened at the party, thus keeping his dignity, but making him seem more distant. Hunk enjoyed being with people, wasn’t shy about jokes and teasing, and Keith’s language already separated him apart from the other Paladins. He spoke like he’d swallowed a dozen dictionaries and had learned English from nature documentaries.

Or, he could show Hunk. It’d make him look like an idiot, it might encourage Hunk to associate him with the Galra, but it also had the opportunity for rewards. So he pushed off from the railing, away from Hunk’s hand. He flashed a smile as he raised his arms and began to sway. As he danced, he spoke.

“It’s meant to mimic reeds,” he said. “The Galra are obsessed with sands and winds, and water is precious. Think of Gal as like--as like Egypt where the Nile is. Vrikka has a giant river that crosses right through it. Galra gather there at night.”

Hunk’s face was flushed. His shaking shoulders revealed what he thought. Keith let his smile turn to a grin. “It’s stupid, I know.” It hurt to say that. He stopped dancing and shook his head. “No, not stupid. Just a bit silly looking to us. I know they see human dancing as a bit too risky to life and limb.”

“Seriously?” Hunk leaned forward. “Why?”

Keith motioned at his digitigrade legs. “Galra legs break really easily. My body’s agile in this form, but flips and spins and things like that risk mangling tendons or shattering bones if something goes wrong. When I was in my real body--” and would Hunk catch that phrasing?-- “they were always a bit surprised at the things I’d do.” 

“They wouldn’t like acrobats, would they?” Hunk laughed. “The Galra are--I guess it makes sense that they’re not all fighters, or at least always focused on fighting. I’m trying to imagine Sendak dancing like that and it’s hard. But he must have done it before.”

Keith shrugged. “I… saw him. While I was a captive, I mean. He wasn’t happy with me being there, let alone roaming free. I can see him refusing to dance. Even the other Galra don’t seem to like him as a person.” He didn’t remember anyone really cozying up to Sendak or talking about him with admiration. Considering how strange he’d been to talk to during Keith’s time as a Galra and as a human Paladin, Keith wasn’t surprised. Sendak loomed and prowled and bared his teeth. Even in a world of power games, Sendak came across as unstable, almost threatening. 

Hunk watched him. “Seriously?” He paused, lips pursing. “I can see that, actually. He was really, well, weird. I can’t see him going to a party or going for drinks.”

This was a good thing, Keith realized. Sendak was one of the figures that’d threatened Voltron the most. He’d seemed like the quintessential Galra, the face of tyranny and violence. If Keith othered Sendak, that improved Keith’s image among the team. Keith was  _ a _ Galra--just like Sendak was  _ a _ Galra.

“I saw him in messes,” Keith said, “but while he had his own flunkies, he wasn’t what I’d call popular.” A partial lie. How many Galra had admired Sendak? He’d never polled them, but he didn’t doubt a significant portion admired Sendak for his proximity to Zarkon. “It’s like--it’s like with humans. There are too many of us to really generalize.”

“But then we don’t have a global government,” Hunk replied, “based around a dictatorship that’s lasted millenia.” Keith felt his face fall. Hunk reached out to nudge Keith’s shoulder with his knuckles. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just I think you should be careful about what people think. I know what you’re getting at, but Lance isn’t going to be willing to listen to that. Allura especially.”

“I know.” Keith tried not to sound miserable, but it didn’t work out. “The Galra aren’t easy to humanize. But I feel like I have to say something. Because otherwise, people will think the Galra are all like Sendak--”

“--And we’ll include you too in that,” Hunk finished. “You… Keith, even if we hate the Galra, we don’t hate  _ you _ . You’re different. But I think you’re right, in a way. This doesn’t end in us killing the Galra. The war ends with Zarkon taken out and the Galra rebuilt to something normal. I know I’m going to meet Galra in the future, ones who aren’t soldiers or you. And I know I’ll like at least a few of them, because as you said: there are a lot of Galra in the universe.” 

Keith stared. What did he say to that? Hunk didn’t see him as the rest of the Galra, and even if he did, he thought there’d be some he might like. Keith’s heart clenched. “You didn’t trust me when I arrived,” he blurted out. He wanted to claw the words back into his mouth.

Hunk contemplated Keith, his expression neutral. “Because I didn’t know if it was you coming back. It’s weird what happened, and I don’t think I’ll ever figure out what to make of it, but you’re--you’re  _ you _ . But friendlier. I know Lance thinks that makes you a spy, but I think it just means being with the Galra forced you to learn how to people. It’s not good: I’m not saying that. I’d rather you’d learned to people with us. But the person who just danced like an idiot reminds me of the guy who laughed at the Arusian party, and I liked that guy.”

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t everything he’d wanted to hear since the first confrontation with the others in Voltron. But it was part of what he needed. Hunk didn’t hate him. It was still awkward and he didn’t know what to say, but he swallowed, smiled, and reached out to clap Hunk on the shoulder. It was something Shiro would have done. 

“Thanks,” he managed. “I… missed you guys. A lot. It’s been really hard and strange the past year and I just--I get why all of you are wary. I just hope talking to you guys helps people feel comfortable.”

Hunk reached up to pat Keith on the hand. It was awkward, painfully so. “Hey, it’s not just about us. I know this isn’t the best welcome someone’s ever got.” Hunk winced. “I wish it could have been better, but it was a shock, y’know? You come back and you’re…  _ this _ , and the brain’s not too clear on what to think.”

Keith let his hand fall from Hunk’s shoulder and stuffed both of his hands into his pockets. “I hope Lance’s clears up.” He forced a laugh. “This was a good talk, I think.”

“It was.” Hunk pushed away from the railing. “It’s getting late, though, and you haven’t slept since you got here. I promise no one’s gonna kill you in your sleep.”

God, he hadn’t even thought of that. Sleep had always seemed like a safe haven. And maybe it still was--so long as the Clarion didn’t appear on the Castle and the captives stayed captives, nobody was going to come for him with a knife. So he laughed, though it was a bit higher than it should have been.

Hunk excused himself with other tasks that needed to be done before he slept. Pidge was gone when Keith exited the engine room. The halls were silent except for his armour’s footfalls. It was a silence he’d once been used to, but now found himself almost hunted by. At the Palace, there’d always been someone around, even if they just waited in the room beside him. Everything had been watched and evaluated and guarded, and now there was nothing.

No one watched him as he walked the Castle’s halls. Lance might think he was a spy and Allura might hate him, but they didn’t prowl after him, stalking his every move for something,  _ anything _ , suspicious. It was the most normalcy he’d had in a long time, despite the circumstances or the state of his body.

Lance wasn’t in the training room. That cheered him enough to motivate him to slink inside. The androids lined the walls and there were weapons in the back. His body ached to train, but something dimmed his mood almost instantly. He didn’t have his bayard. He had Red, he’d escaped, and they could--eventually-form Voltron, but he didn’t have his bayard. The magic or technology or flat out hybrid that created his sword had always made one that fit perfectly. It’d known the size of his fingers and the strength of his hand. The weight in his palm had been almost soothing. A hybrid of a sword and katar, he’d been able to thrust and slash like it weighed less than a feather.

How would he get it back? He didn’t have anything to negotiate with. Already, he planned to use his deal with Zarkon to get the Holts. Maybe he could bank on Zarkon feeling it was in his best interests to arm Keith. With the Outsiders coming, they’d need to be well-armed, despite whatever games Zarkon wanted to play or manipulations were afoot.

He touched one of weapons. The metal was cold against his fingers. This was it. He could take one of the weapons and use it. Nobody was there to stop him; nobody was there to watch. He grabbed the hilt. It was light and balanced, and swished as he twirled it in his grip. The solid metal promised weight, but it wasn’t there. 

He tensed. What forms did he know? They were buried under dirt and sand and ages past. It’d been a year and some, but it may as well have been a century. Thrust, parry, slash, duck--he went through the motions with hesitation and pauses. The frustration that rose was pointless. Even trying to fight was better than walking away. He was rusty and far behind the other Paladins. If he didn’t practice, he’d be dead weight. The thoughts washed away a bit of the exhaustion that plagued him. 

He lunged into a series of attacks. His legs were stiff and awkward beneath him, but practice could fix that. There would always be work to do. He knew that. Five hours a day, though, could get him to where he needed to be. The pauses between combat would do--there were always moments where they had to wait, or periods of rest. The others would understand why he needed to train. They had to think the same, that Keith was out of practice and a weak link. 

It wasn’t a malicious thought. He thought it was more matter of fact. He’d spent months at the Palace lazing around with food, sitting in cushy chairs and strolling through gardens. Escape had been physically demanding, and he’d found his body hadn’t held up as it should. Not surprising, considering everything. But he could fix it now. The blade gleamed in the sterile lights. His breaths were harsh and ragged. His claws were out, almost surprising him at how sharp they were when they pressed into his finger pads. Rushing air brushed against his bared teeth; his fur shifted as he spun into a series of slashes at an unseen enemy.

Were his pupils slits? Did his teeth catch the light? The thoughts of his inhumanity unnerved him. He tried to channel his unsettled feeling into stronger and faster attacks. His mind numbed in the flurry of motion. Instinct took over--instinct honed by circumstance and what he thought, now, was part of his race. The Galra were meant to fight. On a hostile planet like Gal, you either fought for your life or you died. Generations--tens of thousands of years of his people--had fought and died, some for misguided glory, others for water and food, one to carry a child whose existence should have ended in death. 

He switched hands between spins. The blade slashed out--and clanged against metal. A solid hand clutched the blade. The grip was loose as it guided the sword down. Keith’s gaze followed it numbly. When he looked up, Shiro met his eyes.

“You all right?” Shiro asked quietly.

Keith refused to shudder or cringe back. “As well as I can be.”

“That’s not reassuring.” Shiro pulled the sword from Keith’s grip. It wasn’t as loose as Keith had believed. The claws digging into his palm should have tipped him off. His skin itched as Shiro put the sword back on the wall. “I was worried you’d hurt yourself. You were just--” Shiro seemed to grasp for the right words. “It was  _ wild _ . Uncontrolled. If you’d kept going, you’d have injured yourself.” Shiro frowned. “We need to talk.”

Exhaustion slumped his shoulders without thinking. Shiro’s brows rose as Keith tried to muster the will for a smile. “Lead the way. We’re doing this in your room?”

Shiro faced him fully, a frown taking form. “... Keith.” Something itched under his skin. “This isn’t--I’m not going to lecture you. I’m just worried.”

When had worry become something ominous to Keith? When he’d been on Earth, he’d ached for someone to express concern over him. Shiro had been a partial fulfillment, but Keith had never deluded himself that he was Shiro’s top priority. They’d been friends, close ones, but Shiro’s life would never stop for Keith. He’d dreamed of someone where he was one of their most important people.

It occurred to him that that’d happened with the Galra. Lives had revolved around his--Hyladra’s after becoming his Hani, for example, and Zarkon had favoured him beyond reason. Thace and Volux were family who’d tailed him obsessively, both trying to protect him from himself and protect their own standings. Everyone had been worried for him. That worry had taken the form of control and obsession and threats: it’d tainted the concept of worry and concern, leaving him wary of anyone who asked him something under the guise of worry.

This was Shiro, though. Shiro, his close friend and leader. It was Shiro’s business if Keith was losing control, particularly in his new body amidst distrust from several members of their team. Keith straightened and let his smile fall away. “I know,” he said quietly. “I’m just very tired. It’s been a very long few days.” He reached up to scratch at one of his ears. “I know you’re just worried, though. Can we sit down somewhere for this?”

Shiro reached out to touch his shoulder. “We can go to the kitchen. You look like you could use a drink--alcohol or otherwise. I think Coran has a nunvil stash.”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit of booze,” Keith admitted. “You know, before she died, drinking alcohol interfered with the Voice’s connection to the Galra. I think some of the dissidents who weren’t with the Blades drank because of that.”

Why had he said that? Shiro didn’t look bothered, though. “She was bound to the quintessence in every Galra, right?”

Keith paused. “Not all,” he said carefully. “I was protected since I had Red. There were also the group I was said to belong to while I was at the Palace--the Blackmouths. They didn’t worship the Voice, so she didn’t have a connection to them. My cover was that I was a convert.”

Shiro led him from the room. His touch was firm but not painful. His thumb rubbed into Keith’s shoulder, forcing out the stress and stiffness. “So the Blackmouths don’t like the Empire. What would they think of Voltron?”

Keith hadn’t thought of that. “I don’t know.” He frowned at the empty halls ahead. “... Maybe they’d like us? I know they’ve been isolated. They might either be peaceful or complete monsters. If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, it’d be worth reaching out.”

“You’d have to be the spokesperson for it.” Keith blinked and looked up. Shiro tilted his head down to smile at him. “I know--it’s not really your thing. But they’ll trust a Galra whose eyes aren’t glowing a lot more than some strange furless flesh things. Even if we introduce ourselves as enemies of the Empire.”

It made Keith’s transformation  _ useful _ . That bowled him over in ways he couldn’t have foreseen. He breathed deep. “I don’t know,” he said lightly, “you’re pretty good for furless flesh things.” He reached up to touch Shiro’s hand. Shiro didn’t flinch at the touch of Keith’s paw-pads. It was almost as shocking as the transformation itself: Shiro had so much reason to pull back or refuse to even touch him, yet all Shiro did was smile at him.

“Glad to have your approval.” Keith felt the changes to his legs as he walked alongside Shiro. “You look--” Shiro cut off, swallowing visibly. “... You look really tired. I’m sorry for wanting to talk but I feel like this is probably one of the few times we’ll get a bit of privacy.”

Keith sucked on a sharp tooth before he shrugged. “You’re right. Every other time, someone might walk in and I don’t know what they’ll make of us talking. Hunk and Pidge--I don’t think they’d care? Same with Coran. But Allura and Lance would be different.” He paused, thinking. “Lance seems in his own world right now, though.”

Shiro raised a brow. “What makes you say that?”

“He was training earlier. I walked by, but he didn’t seem to notice.” He reached up to rub at his cheek. “He was just so absorbed in training. He wasn’t like that before I left.”

“No, and it took him a long time to figure out how to to focus.” Shiro laughed softly. “When you were taken, things had to… change. Adapt. We needed better equipment to make up for losing the Red Lion and Voltron. We needed someone to be a striker--you were always the one I’d choose for infiltrations and fights. Lance tried to fill that role but it was hard at first.”

Keith could only imagine. Lance could shoot, but it was a whole other thing to engage in close combat. It required either of Keith’s or Shiro’s weapons: hand-to-hand, a sword, an axe, even a knife. “Has he changed what his bayard turns into?”

“Partially,” Shiro allowed. “It took a few months. It isn’t what I’d call a stable change, but it happens when he needs it most. Usually, though, he infiltrates with his rifle.”

The bayards could adapt--did that include his own? What would the Red bayard turn into if he pushed it? The first step to that would be getting it back, though. “Sounds risky. He’s learning how to use the new weapon?”

Shiro winced. “Unfortunately yes. It’s a process. A long one. Lance never excelled at combat at the Garrison, and using a gun has less of a learning curve. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Won’t breathe a word.” The news pathetically soothed him. He hadn’t been replaced. They’d done their best to fill in for his absence, but there was room for him to slot himself back in. Even if some of them didn’t like him, he could still be of use. What he needed to do was get back into top shape. He was a Galra, which gave him speed and strength that exceeded most humans’. Conditioned, he’d beat even Olympian humans.

The empty kitchen’s lights were dim. At their arrival, clean blue-white light illuminated, revealing machines quietly working away at dishes and pots. The tables gleamed, already scrubbed and polished. On a glass-covered dish, a stack of pastries waited, crafted earlier by Hunk. Where Hunk had found the time, Keith didn’t know--it was one of those Hunk things, he thought. Hunk could always find the time for anything: he budgeted and micromanaged what was happening, the other side of the coin to Pidge who crammed everything in and forwent balance. He’d seen her up at every hour, poring over her laptop like it held the secrets of the universe.

Shiro didn’t hesitate to pluck the glass cover off. He motioned with his other hand at the pastries. “I don’t think he’d mind.”

Hunk would mind more if they  _ didn’t _ take some. Keith suspected cooking was a coping mechanism: it wasn’t just enjoyment but something soothing. Keith grabbed a violet almost-macaron, if not for the fact it was made of food goo. He offered a red one to Shiro who took it with his robotic right hand. The dexterity of the metal always quietly amazed Keith. Shiro held the macaron between his thumb and forefinger and controlled the strength enough to not even crack the shell. 

They sat in silence as Keith nibbled at his macaron. The cream between the shells was sweet--as sweet as anything served at Zarkon’s table, but it was innately human in construction. The Galra hadn’t been big on pastries and it was easy to see why. It wasn’t like they had wheat, and there was little space on Gal to grow any sort of other grains. No, they glazed nuts with sucrose and cultivated fruits and berries. That was the closest they had to what humans knew as desserts. 

“You wanted to talk,” Keith said as he finished the remaining half of the macaron. The cream left a filmy coat over his sharp teeth. He forced his tongue not to rub at them. “I know things are--well, they’re not great. But I was just really focused on what I was doing.”

Shiro committed the crime of screwing the macaron’s top off like it was an Oreo. Keith imagined Hunk having nightmares that night, not knowing what culinary atrocity had happened without his knowing. 

“Focus is a double-edged sword,” Shiro replied. “You can do so much when you’re concentrating. Your senses heighten, your strength increases, and your tolerance for pain exceeds everything, because your mind is preoccupied with anything but the burn in your muscles and the stretch of tendons.” Shiro’s eyes were glued to the macaron. He hadn’t eaten it--just mutilated it--but it was a good distraction than looking at Keith. “You’re scared and frustrated. The way you were fighting was an expression of that. You threw yourself into spins and lunges, and while if you were human, I might have found it in me to pretend that it might help with how you’re feeling, I  _ know _ the weaknesses Galra have. When I was in the ring, I had to take advantage of that.”

A chill slunk over Keith’s skin, beneath the soft fur. “... You were afraid I’d--” He cut off, unable to say it. 

“That you’d break a leg,” Shiro finished, “or tear a muscle or rip a tendon. Galra are strong and fast, but I never met a Galra who fought like you do because there was too much of a risk. Since I can’t let you pummel a ‘droid to release some anger, talking it out is all I have. I know it’s not your style.”

Keith wished he had a drink. If he went to get one now, though, he’d get one of Shiro’s knowing looks. “I don’t think there’s much to say, Shiro. I’m annoyed and frustrated, sure, but it’s not a mystery. I feel like I walk on eggshells under a microscope and every other stupid metaphor. Pidge and Hunk seem fine--Hunk more than Pidge--but I know I’ve got a long way to go with Lance and Allura. I know I haven’t done anything wrong. I know I shouldn’t be angry. I was just going to take a swing or two at an android and go to bed.”

“You’ve learned to talk about feelings,” Shiro noted wryly. “But you’re still not honest with yourself. You’re trying to stay fair and understanding. To me, though, you radiate frustration and grief. You were always the type to stuff things down but you probably made an art of it with the Galra.” Shiro sighed. “It doesn’t help that I haven’t intervened, has it? But I was afraid that if I pushed with the others, they’d take it as favouritism and react worse. They needed to know that the reconnection was of their choice. But those are excuses, aren’t they?”

Shiro put the red macaron back together and reached out to touch Keith’s hand. The metal was cool. “You belong here. You’re the Red Paladin, the one with the most understanding of the Empire and how to save the universe, and you’re my best friend. I don’t care that you’re a Galra--it’s a strange thing to find out, but it doesn’t change our friendship.”

Friendship, friendship, friendship. For some reason, those words grated. They didn’t make him angry, but they scraped at him. “I know. I appreciate it.”

“But it isn’t enough,” Shiro added. Keith blinked and barely stifled a recoil. “I want you to know that I  _ will _ intervene if things get ugly. Right now, most of the team supports you, even if they don’t understand what’s happened. But Lance and Allura… Allura wouldn’t hurt you physically. She’ll go after you with words.”

“Lance will do both if things go bad.” Keith kept his voice even.

Shiro nodded. “He will. I can’t go up to him and plead your case yet--he’s still furious. Maybe in a week or two I can do it. For now, he’ll have to be left angry. But I will not let him hurt you. If he comes after you, you need to comm me immediately.”

“If you do anything,” Keith said carefully, “that could make the situation worse.”

Shiro grimaced. “It will. I know I told you that. But with Pidge and Hunk supporting you, he’ll be sabotaging himself. And even if it makes things more complicated, you’re not his punching bag. I can see my words had the wrong effect, just by how you were in the training facilities. I don’t tolerate you, Keith; I don’t plan on leaving if things get inconvenient. I want to do the balancing act and come out ahead--but not at your expense. If you need to talk to Allura or Lance for any reason, tell me. I’ll be ready to help.”

The red macaron sat abandoned on the cool marble table. This was, Keith thought, what he’d wanted: someone in his corner, someone without ulterior motives and who meant him well. But it all rang hollow. Not because he didn’t like Shiro--he loved the man--but because he was so used to being fucked over. Any time someone had come to him with claims of authentic concern, it’d ended in backstabbing. 

He needed to get over that. It’d been the right way to engage with the Galra, but it wouldn’t help him on the Castle. Shiro said he wanted to help. Keith needed to take that at face value, thank him, and smile. Yet when he tried to follow the steps, something sharp got stuck in his throat. It dug deep into the flesh, almost twisting when he swallowed.

“Thank you,” he murmured. He picked up Shiro’s macaron and nibbled at it too. “I don’t want to make things worse for you, though. It can’t be easy to lead the team right now.”

Shiro shook his head. “It’s never been easy. Hunk and Pidge were never prepared for combat. Lance never qualified for fighter pilot training until you left the Garrison. Allura’s used to diplomacy and politics. Being Altean makes her good for combat but she’s not used to being attacked without bodyguards. Even me--I did the fighter pilot program, but I went to exploration after. The only one who’s got experience in a war is Coran, who’s stuck looking after the Castle whenever we have to fight.”

“And what about me?” Keith asked. “I don’t imagine I’m all that great either.”

Shiro laughed and reached behind his head to scratch at the buzzed undercut. “You--you’re different. You might not be a general, but you were built to scrap. When you got into the fighter pilot program, I couldn’t have been less surprised. You can predict what the other pilot does without thinking, and you mirror it perfectly. Hand-to-hand? You’re always fast and unrelenting.” He shook his head again. “I’m not saying this to flatter you, and I don’t think you’re the greatest fighter to ever live because I’m not interested in building you up to fall. But I was… really relieved when Red accepted you. I needed someone I could rely on. You’ve got a temper, a sharp tongue, impatience, and you don’t get along with a lot of people, but you’re reliable, determined, skilled, and focused. I need that if we’re going to build to a true fighting force out of Voltron.”

Keith was under no illusions that his personality was at all a winner. He’d been unique and special to the Galra since he was so different, and they’d appreciated his moods as something familiar. The Galra, as a whole, were less friendly with a higher tolerance for snappiness. Among humans, Keith was an asshole; among the Galra, he was sharp and funny. 

It was one of those little differences that Keith appreciated only when he was away. To someone who’d spent less time examining himself--like what he’d been before being captured--they might have been offended at how blunt Shiro was being. Keith, before Zarkon, would have felt uncomfortable with the praise and unnerved by the criticism. But Shiro had read the changes well: Keith now laughed and let his lips quirk to a half-smile. 

“No personality awards,” he said dryly, “but I’ll take what I can get. For what it’s worth, Shiro, I’m glad you’re the one leading us. I don’t know anyone among us who really has the kind of skills you do, or has the ability to wrangle us all together.” He looked down at the red macaron. “And I do know it’s a lot to ask of you.”

Shiro’s shadow leaned in. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said. You’ve gone through a  _ lot _ . Kidnapped, tortured, thrown into a gladiator ring, escaping, held captive by the Garrison, then thrown into a galactic war where you’re leading a group that’s not what I’d call ideal for the situation.” Keith looked up. Shiro’s eyes met his. The warmth they radiated rivalled Gal’s desert sun. “We’re all carrying what we can of the burden, but it’s mostly on your shoulders, Atlas.”

“You’re the only guy I know who talks mythology,” Shiro said, shaking his head. He was smiling, though. “At least outside of English and Classics majors. But then that’s what you wanted to be, right? If not for the Garrison.”

“Journalism, yeah, with English and a bit of Classics. I wanted to study a lot of things.” Keith stood from the table, but it wasn’t to leave. He went to the fridge and poured them both pale purple liquids to drink. If he remembered right, it was Shiro’s favourite type: it tasted of some Altean fruit or another, tart with a hint of sweetness. “What about you? If the Garrison didn’t exist, what would you be doing?”

It moved them away from Keith’s impulsive comment. ‘Atlas’ was a little too admiring for a pair of friends, at least for ones where the atmosphere always felt charged. Shiro’s brow furrowed as he held his chin in thought. “That’s hard,” was the reply. “I don’t think I could let go of the ‘what ifs’ of space. We know so little and there’s so much to see. If there wasn’t a Garrison, there’d still be universities and NASA. So I’d end up in university too, probably studying astrobiology or astrophysics.”

“No military?”

Shiro huffed out a half-laugh. “Maybe. Have to pay for school somehow. But as a goal? Probably not. I’ve never enjoyed the military part. It’s been a necessary evil to get in the pilot’s seat.”

Fair. Keith didn’t enjoy the inspections, drills, or marching. Some of the Garrison cadets were starry-eyed when they were lined up and barked at by superiors, but it’d worn thin for Keith after the first week. The shiny medals on officers’ chests or the gleaming desert sun as the cadets were marched about to instil discipline were annoying to sleep-deprived eyes and exhausting to sleep-starved muscles. 

He told Shiro that, who shrugged. “Iverson believes in a shock and awe approach to cadets. It bowls over a lot of newbies and keeps them from acting out. I’ve seen it work on some really snotty cadets--you remember Lapierre, the one with an attitude problem? A week of drills and it was like he’d been birthed in the Garrison’s basement and never left.” Shiro contemplated Keith. “It never worked with you. That pissed off Iverson, but I think that made you a better cadet, even if you caused a few headaches. The risk with the Garrison is that we stomp out any sort of personality or spark to a cadet in the process of trying to get them to blend in.”

“It didn’t work for you either.”

Shiro grinned. “See, when you become an officer, having a bit of personality isn’t a flaw anymore. Not to brass. Iverson hates officers who act like how he wants cadets to behave. Cadets are unruly brats to be corralled to obedience; officers are his allies who he needs to be able to have a whiskey with.”

It was surprisingly illuminating. “I didn’t think of it like that,” he mused. “I just sort of assumed that only the best, well, corralled brats made it to the top.”

“You never did have much respect for rank.” Shiro didn’t seem bothered by that; he certainly wasn’t surprised. “The most obedient make it to about sergeant level--you remember Lakes, right? Everyone knew he’d never make it further without seniority. He just couldn’t take a position on things if the person arguing against him had a single stripe more.”

Which would have included even Shiro. He was a Lieutenant, just above being a NCO, and his role at the Garrison had been as a TA. But sergeant was below lieutenant, and Lakes had always been there at Shiro’s beck and call, saluting and barking out whatever orders Shiro told him to pass along. That’d played in Keith’s favour: Shiro would take him aside for extra lessons, and Lakes wouldn’t dare say a word against it, even if he disagreed.

Keith’s favourite time had been when Shiro bailed him out of drill exercises. It’d been a punishment incurred by squabbles between cadets: Heathers and Rabkin had got into a pissing contest over who had a better reaction time, and it’d ended in them breaking formation. Keith had endured ten minutes of the argument before he snapped at both of them. It’d ended in the pair ganging up on him--snide comments rained down, as did challenges about his skill. Lakes had lost his temper before Keith did, blessedly, but Lakes had decided Keith was at fault as well for instigating the problem. Looking back, years later, Keith knew he hadn’t helped. He’d been sharp and cutting. It hadn’t been what the fight had needed. 

Shiro had bailed him out of the drills because he’d looked at the fight and thought it pointless. He’d said something about it being petty squabbles that Keith had been dragged into: Keith had been smug at Shiro taking his side, though he hadn’t said a word about it to anyone. But maybe Shiro should have left him to the drills, even if Keith had enjoyed the lesson about velocity control and the subsequent trip to town for a meal.

Keith knew he’d never been the student Shiro should have thought of him as. At best, it’d been inappropriate. There was nothing untoward happening--Shiro was still Shiro--but it’d been… It wasn’t what superiors would have called fine. They were too close. Keith was a cadet, albeit a talented one, and Shiro was a TA. Going for brunch on the weekend wasn’t something TAs should do with a student, particularly in the military. How Shiro had sold it to anyone superior in rank, Keith didn’t know.

What Keith did know was that other cadets had noticed. A few had made comments about the bedroom, but Keith had ignored it. Most resented it as they felt Shiro was grooming him for command, which was a slight against their skills, particularly when it came out Shiro was going to Kerberos. The worst had come from anyone who saw him as a rival. Keith’s successes became Shiro’s successes. 

Keith became, to them, overrated. The only reason he topped the sims was because Shiro himself had guided Keith’s hand. If Shiro had paid any amount of attention to his rivals, then they’d have supplanted Keith easily. There was no way to get through to them that Keith was tutored  _ because _ Keith had talent. What made it worse was the cringing feeling that they were partly right. Keith would have done well on his own, but would he have broken records without Shiro?

He supposed the answer had come when Shiro was kidnapped. 

“Lakes at least meant well,” Keith said. He took another macaron. “You want one? I saw what you did to the last one. You’re lucky I won’t tell Hunk.”

Shiro’s brows rose. Something flashed over his face before a smile took form. “Even if he’d kill me?”

“ _ Especially _ if he’d kill you.” He offered the fuchsia piece. “You treat this one like an Oreo and he’ll have nightmares.”

Shiro took the macaron and eyed it. “Well, I wouldn’t like to give him nightmares.” He popped the entire piece into his mouth. He blinked twice before he swallowed. “I’m always surprised at what Hunk can do with food goo. I don’t think we’d have lasted so long in space without going a little nuts if all we had was slop.”

“I lived on nuts and berries for a few months,” Keith said. “I never want to eat them ever again, so I can’t imagine what raw food goo would have done.” Hunk’s meals were blessings. Cooking was a mundane skill compared to building invisibility shields or piloting robotic lions, but it proved just as useful. 

Shiro raised a brow. “They just fed you that?”

“Sort of.” Keith placed the glass cover down gently. “I didn’t like the attention I got at bigger meals, and I wasn’t a fan of the sour food either. So I just started taking everything in my room. It usually came in the form of snacks? But I ended up treating them as meals.”

“That’s not particularly healthy.”

Keith shrugged. “It wasn’t. Lots of sugar, but we had toothpaste. Salty water too, which probably wasn’t good. I don’t know.” He frowned down at his clawed hands. “I’m probably deficient in a bunch of things, but I don’t know enough about Galran biology to guess.”

“Well, I figure you’re mostly a meat-eater. You wouldn’t have those claws and teeth otherwise.” Shiro eyed him, but it was more contemplative than anything else. “I don’t think berries would be a natural food for you, and your teeth aren’t quite right for nuts. It sounds like they were mostly like a dessert?”

Keith frowned. “... So I lived on Galran macarons for--what? Five months? Six? There’s protein in nuts, though.”

“Which were coated in sugar.” Shiro sounded amused now, but it was dark amusement. “We should talk to Coran about that. He’ll know what Galra need, or at least the computer command to find out.”

Hopefully it wasn’t that bad. He didn’t feel--well, he’d almost always felt like crap. It was hard not to when you were a captive. Had some of that been his diet? He’d been in a human form for a long time. Had he still required Galran nutrition? Was that why he’d spent so much of his youth lagging behind everyone else in height? He didn’t think himself stunted mentally or in strength or speed. Maybe it was just genetic, but then his mother and Thace hadn’t seemed short. He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it too much. Already he felt exhausted. 

“Better to know than not,” he replied, “but I think I’ll take sleep first. My room--is it still in one piece?”

Shiro smiled. “Bit out of place here and there from the Castle almost exploding twice, but I tried to put it back together as much as I remember it. Not that there’s much.”

“Says you.” Keith stood, smoothing his hands’ fur. “Your room’s just as bad.”

They shared a small, quiet look. Both of them knew why the other didn’t collect things. “Maybe,” Shiro said, “we can both fix that. We’ve got a lot of things ahead of us. The others can’t have all the souvenirs.”

Keith just hoped there’d be things in space he’d want to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking so long to get this update out! I've set up a sub-page on my Tumblr where people can keep an eye out on how chapters are progressing. <3 You can find it here-- http://the-wenzel.tumblr.com/ficstatus
> 
> Next update will be the 9th of September!


	9. Chapter 9

Bed was… warm. At least for the Castle. Compared to the Palace, it was like sleeping in an ice bath. The change shocked him enough for his fur to stand on end. It encouraged him to curl up and bury deeper into the mattress and pull the sheets tighter around him. His claws snagged on the high thread-count sheets now and again, and eventually he stuck his feet out from the sheets. The fleshy pads on his feet had no protection from the icy drafts. The fur coating the rest of his feet contained the warmth of his boots, but that didn’t help the bare skin.

Among the Galra, trimming nails wasn’t too common. Unlike pet dogs or house cats, Galra did enough work and daily tasks to keep their nails from turning into ugly, crooked things. Trimming was done for the more homebound Galra--including those who lazed around at the Palace--but it wasn’t a daily task for many Galra, particularly soldiers. Keith had learned how to trim his nails twice while at the Palace. Other than that, he was given files, tips on how to shed his nails properly, and warnings on how, even when filed or trimmed, Galran nails were still sharp. 

Did the Castle have files to spare, or Galran nail trimmers? It was a stupid thought to have while trying to sleep, especially after such a long day, but after the bath issue, the little things were becoming important. Maybe Coran could help. He assumed Coran didn’t hate him. It felt like a safe assumption. But he didn’t have concrete evidence of that either. He could walk up to Coran, smiling and happy, and get whacked in the face with barely controlled rage and disdain.

It was a bit of a nightmare that refused to go away. Coran was not an angry man. Of all the times they’d spoken of the Galra before Keith was captured, Coran had always been injured or sad, but never… never hateful, even if he had the right to be. So maybe asking about sand baths and nail trimmers would be safe.

He tried to relax into the blankets and mattress. His mind chased itself around and around, determined to take him past exhaustion to something dopey and loopy. If he didn’t sleep, he’d find it impossible to withstand everything he had to face tomorrow. ‘Today’ he supposed was more accurate. It was early morning by now. Sleep was necessary.

But too much had happened for his mind to be really quiet. The Voice had died; he’d returned to Voltron; everyone knew he was a Galra, at least of those who most immediately mattered. He’d destroyed a civilization. If he wanted to be glib, he could say it was all in a day’s work. Ten thousand years, billions dead, and it’d all ended because a young, dumb, and ignorant bargaining chip turned out to have a mom the Voice really liked. 

What were the odds? Well, if Zarkon had known about his heritage, it was a little less coincidental. Zarkon had taken him and hoped that his heritage would tie him to the Galra. Instead, it’d armed Keith to be a nightmare for him. 

What now, though? It was a simple checklist. Go to the Blades, get information on where the Alteans were, collect Rime, go to the Altean colony, and--what? Muster an army to fight the Outsiders? Try to gather information on what the Alteans had developed before the destruction of Altea? Zarkon had inherited the technology King Alfor had been developing. The Blades would know the technological capabilities of the Empire. The Alteans might have developments or knowledge that they haven’t shared. Together, Voltron might have a secret weapon.

Maybe. That was the keen, sharp word for it. Maybe. The Empire could have no secrets. The Alteans might have just suffered and tried to survive for the past ten thousand years. They might just have Voltron--and with just Voltron, they were in a worse spot than Alfor and Zarkon ever were. Keith wasn’t delusional enough to tell himself he and the others would somehow be better Paladins who could unlock more of the Lions than Alfor or Zarkon ever had. Alfor and Zarkon had years, if not decades, on the current Paladins’ experience. Other than Pidge’s invisibility shield on Green, there’d been no upgrades in thousands of years. The Lions had just been mouldering in hiding.

This danced around the main problem. If the universe had nothing new to fight the Outsiders with, the Lions and Voltron wouldn’t be enough. And if they weren’t enough, the universe was going to be wiped out, all because Keith had decided, in the moment, that he’d known best. The Voice was bad, so the Voice had to die. The civilization that’d formed under Zarkon’s reign hurt people--so it needed to go too.

Billions upon billions of people had had no choice in what happened. There were executive decisions and then there was deciding who lived and died on a galactic, cosmic,  _ everyone in existence _ scale. He worried about the other Paladins hating him and how his Galran friends and family felt, but he worried more, in the dark room in a pale castle in a wide, open space of decaying life and energy, that he had been the universe’s own end. There’d been no consultation. He hadn’t asked anyone how they’d feel if the Voice died. The Blades had simply transported him to the Voice so he could kill it.

None of them would have known the details of what the Voice actually did. Oh, they’d known the Voice was using quintessence to protect the universe from something outside, but they hadn’t spoken to the Voice, nor had they been guided through Voltron’s history like Terava had done for Keith. Keith had seen the panic as the original Paladins spoke of sacrificing their lives to fuel the Lions. He’d caught glimpses of what happened during an invasion, of the darkness that spread like oil over water.

He’d made the choice for more people than his mind would ever truly been able to comprehend. How could someone sleep after that? A little more than twenty four hours since the Voice’s destruction. He’d eaten his supper like he hadn’t killed people. Even if they won, how much would the universe lose before then? They could lose entire systems, civilizations, species. Pass the potatoes, he thought, and let’s ignore that I signed us up for war that could last longer than our lifetimes.

He buried his face deeper into the pillow. Where was sleep when he needed it most? His mind bucked off the exhaustion, determined to cling to the worries that crowded his brain. Why couldn’t he just ignore it all and sleep? He’d ignored… not worse, but similarly bad things while at the Palace. He’d slept in Central Command’s temple, surrounded by people he couldn’t trust, knowing that there were spies and fanatics that’d kill him if they knew the truth.

It took another hour of tossing and turning before sleep came. It was a dead sort of sleep. There were no dreams, despite the horrors and stresses. All that filled his mind--all that he remembered--was an unending darkness, calming yet empty. There were no whispers; there were no flitting ideas of fragmented thoughts.

He woke on his own. That startled him. His hands flexed as his claws came out, but it was nothing to worry about. It’d been a long time since he’d been allowed quiet. At Central Command, he’d had guards waking him up. At the Palace, servants would have hurried in as the sun rose and prepared him for the day. The last time he’d had a morning to himself was when he’d left the Garrison for the shack. There’d been nothing to do except for what he set for himself. 

Going back to that was… almost comforting. Almost. The guillotine rested six feet above his neck and the world was collapsing around him, but he could wake up whenever he pleased, at least until the real war started. Worse, though, was that he couldn’t strap on his armour and march to the helm. He was gross--sweaty, greasy, dusty, and probably stank. Without a dust bath or a strong enough dryer, he, Regris, and Ulaz would be welcomed with grimaces. So where was Coran? There wasn’t time for Hunk or Pidge to have built anything. He hoped, at least. They should have gone to bed soon after Keith--

He wrapped himself in a robe, forwent slippers, and jogged from his room. The metal floors were like ice against his feet. The slippers hadn’t fit, and he didn’t want to grime up his armoured boots, but he wished there’d been something to wear. He focused on moving quickly through the halls. What time was it? There were no clocks on display, nor sun from which to judge. 

He found Hunk first. Hunk sat at a table, the oven radiating heat as he tapped at an Altean tablet. A small cube projected schematics of some kind. Keith eyed it for a moment before speaking. The image was of a long, thin ship of some kind. Interesting, but nothing he’d be able to really decode on his own beyond ‘white Altean taffy ship’. 

“Do you know where Coran is?” he asked. It struck him that it wasn’t how a normal greeting should work, so he backpedalled. “Did you design that?” Failure again. “It looks cool.” Middling success. Could do worse.

Hunk looked up at him, eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. “... I made it, yeah. I used some Altean concepts.” He reached out and tapped the nose of the cylinder. The schematic zoomed in to a cockpit. “They’re meant for quick travel with cargo. I was thinking that it’d help with evacuations--you could get people inside in rows, maximizing space usage. It wouldn’t be the most elegant flight, but it’d be good for quick movement.”

Keith leaned in, eyeing the wider layout. “It’d be quick in atmosphere flights,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to take it through a debris field, but I don’t think we’d be going near any of them with refugees. It’d also make landing on places like the Castle’s bay easy. You could fit a lot of them in one spot, right?”

“Exactly,” Hunk said, a grin forming. “If we’re going to be fighting a war, there are going to be civilians, and I want them to be okay.” He flicked a finger, sending the schematic back into the cube. “Anyway--you wanted Coran? He’s debugging a new program for the Castle in the engines. When you find him, can you tell him I figured out the the energy-mediating module throttle? He’ll be happy about that.”

Keith had no idea what that was, but he could memorize the series of words. Hunk told him to come back in two hours for lunch before turning back to his tablet. Keith felt like he’d lost some sort of connection to daily life. What ‘daily life’ was in a galactic war as an alien, well, he didn’t know. But he’d slept until lunch, Hunk had shown him a new space ship beyond anything Earth had, and there was food goo in the oven, shaped into some fascilime of human food. 

He walked through the halls dogged by those thoughts. His robe swished around his legs. His fur puffed up, static ruining the usual smoothness. His hair stuck up at strange angles and his skin itched, parched of moisture and coated in dust from the desert and the Voice’s facility. He didn’t run into anyone as he hurried through the halls. He was glad for that. At best, he’d get strange looks; at worst, he’d run into Lance.

The Castle was immense. Keith hadn’t explored the ship as much as he should have. He’d kept to a few rooms--the training room, the kitchen, the helm, his room, and a few places where he could enjoy the quiet. The engines were Coran, Hunk, and Pidge’s domains. It was a tangled several levels, full of an ambient energy that put his fur on end. Every room he peered into had machines whose purpose he couldn’t decipher. 

Coran was at a wall-spanning terminal. HIs gloved fingers flew over the keyboard as he hummed and sang a little tune. His hips twitched and jerked in what may have been a dance. Keith pursed his lips at the room’s entrance. Did Coran know how to feel embarrassed of silly things? Keith had never seen Coran care about people seeing anything like what he was doing. 

He took that as an okay to speak. “Hunk says he fixed the energy-mediating module throttle.”

Coran startled, though he didn’t stop swaying. “That will help the zyla-bands’ modulation! I’ll have to thank him later.” He spun around, almost striking a pose. “Soon, the Castle will be prepared for any threat, and it will be thanks to the brilliance of the Paladins and my own guidance!”

Keith stared. “... That’s good?”

“Very good,” Coran said as he smoothed his mustache. His chest was still puffed up. “You haven’t seen the work we’ve done, have you?” There was no malice to his voice. “Come, come! You should know how the Castle’s doing. As Red Paladin, you’re the right hand of Volttron.” Coran paused. “Quite literally!”

Keith blinked. That was true, wasn’t it? He was Shiro’s lieutenant, and the Red Lion was even Voltron’s right hand. Warmth blossomed in his chest. He’d fallen from Voltron and Lance didn’t really care to follow his directions, but it was still his role. If nothing else, he’d try to make it work.

“I’d love to see what you guys have worked on.” Coran’s smile turned to a beam before he spun back around to the terminal. His fingers flew over the keys; what he typed, Keith didn’t know. The Altean symbols were opaque to him, though less opaque than Galran writing. “I know Hunk designed an evacuation ship.”

“Ah, so that’s coming along nicely, is it?” Coran nodded to himself. “Good! He and Pidge have been wonderful students--your Garrison tended to their talents beautifully, but its teachings, oh… Its teachings are  _ dated _ . Can you imagine teaching the limits of faster than light travel in an age like this?” He tsked. “I try to be understanding as I can be--all civilizations progress at their own speed--but what a misfortune to the talents on your planet.”

_ Your _ planet. Keith was keenly aware of the thick fur covering him, but Coran either didn’t care about that or his mind subconsciously thought of Keith as human anyway. Both options were good. “Well, when we win this war, we can share what we know with Earth.”

“That would be a delight,” Coran said. “I’ve always enjoyed teaching. But you’re not here to listen to me blather, are you?” He tapped a final key. The screen above flashed white before it settled to soft Altean blues. The Castle of Lions took form. “You know about the shield we use, as well as the weapons. Since the Caste was reactivated, I’ve been working to enhance its abilities. The Castle was designed to be a travelling diplomacy ship--one that could enforce peace as needed. My grandfather, Hieronymus Wimbelton, worked with the greatest minds the universe has ever seen. The Castle was beyond anything that ever existed--even in the six hundred years after it was built! Constant upgrades, its own engineering corps, and theoretical physicists and mechanics kept it as an exemplar of what we could do to defend ourselves not just against those who’d disturb the peace, but against the Outsiders as well.”

Keith watched the Castle’s diagram spin gently, like a planet of its own without a sun or moon. “Even ten thousand years later, it’s still holding up.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” Coran smiled down at him. “In all our fights with the Empire, we have been able to strike down the blackguards. But I noticed, as we fought them, that the Castle’s technological advantage was faltering. Oh, we could destroy any single ship that Zarkon could field, but when we attacked Central Command, it became clear to me that the Castle needed to be upgraded immediately. But the Castle, during my time, had hundreds of specialists. Thankfully, the Lions and fate saw fit to provide us with Hunk and Pidge.”

The shields formed on the Castle. They were a swirling miasma of colour. “We’ve tripled their power! Tests show that even experimental weapons from the Empire struggle to penetrate after extended exposure.” Coran tapped another key. The laser banks fired up, sending streaks of rainbow lights crashing forward. “The multi-spectra lasers can cut through most shields--and if they don’t skip it completely, it takes only minutes to break through.”

Coran beamed at the lights like they were his children. “We wouldn’t have survived so long without Voltron if we didn’t have these. The automation Hieronymus implemented has let us keep the Castle in good order while working on improvements. With Voltron’s return, well! The Empire best watch out.”

“We’re lucky to have you, Hunk, and Pidge.” If they’d just been a bunch of pilots and Allura, Voltron would have ended a long while ago. Pilots at the Garrison had basic mechanical skills, but nothing where they’d be able to do the work an engineer or scientist could. And Allura? She struck him as someone who had education in just about everything, but there were limits. How much time had been spent on weapons development, physics, chemistry, or engineering? There was a finite amount of time in a life. Allura was meant to be a queen: she had to learn other things too.

Keith didn’t want to think of that other timeline. It had a bad ending. He tried to focus on Coran. “You mention that the Castle was meant for diplomacy. Did many races work here?”

“From across the universe,” Coran said. “But I know what you hint at, Keith--the Galra were stationed here as well. Not all of them sided with Zarkon. There were… fewer than what we’d had before, but there were some. Security was run by a Galran woman; weaponry maintenance was organized by a small council of defectors.” Coran closed the diagrams. “They had their own wing, in fact!” Coran seemed to catch the expression on Keith’s face and hastened to add, “Not because nobody wanted them around, but because the needs of Galra were very different. The default for temperatures, bathing, clothes--those were dictated by how we Alteans needed them, despite the Castle’s purpose as a diplomacy vessel. Most species had their own areas. The Flipperbengs even had a small wing under water. I heard one time it flooded the Genwebbers’ rooms.” Coran laughed, as he usually did, before his gaze settled back on Keith. “I should open the Galran wing,” he said. “What with our guests the Blades and re-establishing contact with defectors. The dryers we have in the Altean wing--where all of you are housed--aren’t strong enough for fur like yours.”

Keith couldn’t help but brighten. “Are there sand baths?”

“The sand might be in less than pristine condition,” Coran said, “but the structures are there. We can pick up sand along the way to the Blades’ base. In the meantime, I’ll get the dryers working in tip-top condition! Bring our guests to section 24-F in a varga, and you can enjoy the finest accommodations known to the universe.”

With that, Coran swept away, carried off by grand thoughts and boundless energy. He didn’t stay to discuss the awkwardness of Keith being Galra, or the hostilities he’d aroused by returning, or even what the Voice’s death meant. To Coran, such things were not surprises- he’d been around for the Castle’s construction which was six hundred years ago, and what was left to shock him? He’d also known the Galra for far longer than Allura, whose experiences with Galra could be boiled down to betrayal and genocide. Coran had known defectors; he’d known the Galra as a race before Zarkon’s reign. 

To Coran, Keith was just another Galra. His blood might carry the same genetics as someone who’d slaughtered his race and family, but Keith did not carry the sins of his forebears. It likely helped that Keith had spent time as a Paladin too--the Red Lion had chosen Keith, so there must be some good in him, even if his blood was rotten. The faith Coran might have in the Lions unnerved Keith. Being chosen by a Lion had seemed a strange process when it first happened. Keith had been designated the Red Lion’s Paladin through Allura’s choice and a few superficial traits. Yet now, it defined who would tolerate him, what his life would be like, what choices he could make. 

If he’d piloted Blue, things would have been different.  _ Everything _ would be different. It wouldn’t have been Terava who spoke to him, for one. It’d also change the dynamic between him and Lance, just like it would have distanced Keith from Shiro. What would have happened? He didn’t want to think too hard about it. He pulled his robe closer against his body and hurried out of the room.

He arrived at the Blades’ room in time to catch an android delivering breakfast. Hunk still plied the Galra with vegetables. Once again, the plates became barren of meat and nuts and anything sour, but piled high with discarded vegetables. Ulaz tried to grimace his way through something that looked like a carrot but gave up after a few bites. Regris didn’t even try. Their spirits lifted at the mention of a Galran wing to the Castle. Regris mentioned flaking on his tail from the cold. It  was another thing Keith didn’t want to think about. Did some Galra shed? Did Zarkon shed? He looked reptilian in some ways. 

Without a sand bath or shower, Keith found himself stuck to the bedroom wing. Wandering around in his robe would look odd, and if he needed to be ready to fight, the least he could do was be near his armour. Putting on the armour while stinking and not needing to, though, would mean more effort than he wanted to put in to fix the consequences. He sat on the bed, crossing his legs as he stared at the wall opposite.

There wasn’t anything to his room. No posters, no souvenirs, no weapons, no computers or tablets. It was barren, especially compared to his cage at the Palace. Hell, his cell at Central Command had possessed more personality, albeit on the darker end of the spectrum. The only thing that’d ever been in his Castle room had been the knife. 

The knife--it wasn’t hard to guess its origin now. It’d been a mystery for over two decades. Now, he recognized the writing on the hilt as Galran. Even more, he knew it had to have come from his mother. What purpose was it meant to serve, though? She’d brought it with her through a thousand planetary systems and left it for him. The knife had been found with him. It’d passed through the hands of various social workers and attendants until he’d gone to the Garrison and been given the knife permanently since he was an adult.

Thace had taken it away. He had to have known, then and there when he saw the knife, that Keith was his son. Had Thace been the one to let Voltron escape? Had he guessed that something was off? It was a leap to assume he had a child who looked human and was a Paladin. But then Keith had interacted with Galran technology that shouldn’t have worked for him if he’d been human. Maybe they’d recorded his DNA in the process. Maybe Thace had seen Keith and thought that, even as a human, he looked too much like his mother, Yara, to be anything but related. Maybe Zarkon had been waiting for Keith to find out his heritage the whole time.

Maybe everyone had known he was a Galra except for Keith and the cadets. That would fit with his luck in the past… well, forever. The self-pitying repelled him, but he decided to indulge in it for the moment. He’d earned a bit of acknowledgement of his misery. Thace had been playing games since Central Command. There’d been the phrase at the party--what was it again?

A’yen.. A’yan? Trickwee-- he shook his head. It’d flowed over his tongue like molasses, but it’d been months. He let his head fall back against the wall. A’yin? It had to be a’yen. His mind dug through memories, searching, hunting. There were small phrases that stuck out--prayers to the Voice among them. 

_ Among the stars, I hear you. You sing among the desert sands, below our feet, and You guide us as a beacon. No matter where we may stray, Your Voice follows us, and to Your sands we will return. _

Hyladra had taught him that, desperate to get him to see the truth as she understood it. Thace had shared some of his family song--one of  _ Keith’s _ family songs--and now Keith dug and dug, hoping for something to come bubbling up. When it did come, it came as a rush, like a dam had broke.

A’yen trikwe vfa lzi. What did it mean? Among the Galra, knowing Old Galran was rare, confined only to high-ranking Druids. But maybe, before Zarkon, the knowledge had been common enough to make it on to the ship’s data banks. The idea intrigued him--but wariness came too. For all he knew, the meaning was ugly: a threat, maybe, at best, a warning. When had his curiosity ever been rewarded? It was ironic to think now that he was a space cat alien. Curiosity hadn’t killed him yet, but it only needed to hit home once.

He spent the varga dozing and then cleaning his armour. Time passed strangely without clocks: he’d learned to measure time just through the passage of the sun on Gal. Everything came back to feeling and a distant counter in the corner of his brain. Just as he finished putting out the padded parts of his armour to air, something in his mind clicked. It was time to gather Regris and Ulaz. 

Memorization from Central Command overcame the distant memories of the Castle. He was used to walking halls that looked identical and remembering, through instinct, where to turn. Regris and Ulaz’s room was far from the bay, almost straight opposite of it. Even those who trusted Keith likely struggled to not feel a little bit paranoid at the strangers among them. With dozens of prisoners in the brig, the Blades had to feel like a lurking threat. Getting Regris and Ulaz into livable conditions would help that dynamic. It was hard to hate someone after you realized they rolled around in volcanic ash like a fucking chinchilla. It’d certainly knocked Keith for a loop.

Regris and Ulaz looked bored. It alleviated a bit when he told them about the Galran wing: Regris’ tail twitched from under the blanket he’d wrapped it in, while Ulaz unfolded from the chair he’d slumped in. “It’s operational?” Ulaz had asked quietly.

“It should be soon if not,” was the reply. He hoped Coran had worked magic. Even Keith felt cold in the robe and undergarments he had. Central Command had been heated to what a Galra thought was cool and what, to a human, would have been tolerably warm. 

Regris and Ulaz followed him from the room. It occurred to Keith that neither Allura nor Lance would approve of the Galran migration happening. Both would see it as a danger to the Castle’s security. If Keith wasn’t to be trusted, he wouldn’t stop sabotage. And even if Keith was trusted, it’d be two against one if something went wrong. The thoughts created a headache that pounded against the back of his eyes. He wished he was still ignorant of what others thought. He’d spent so much time  _ not _ caring that now mild awareness of people’s thoughts and motivations was like drowning in noise. 

It was a stupid thing to complain about. It was a good thing to realize how other people worked--but there was something heart-wrenching to realize someone hated you, or someone you liked meant you ill. He’d spent over a year thinking Volux was simply a prickly person. Now, he knew it had to tie into Keith’s status as their brother. They were naturally standoffish, but the back and forth and mixed signals of friendship… Those were things he recognized now. He wouldn’t have before Central Command. He’d have ignored them. Frankly, he’d have ignored most of those he’d met. But the desperation of those weeks alone, tormented by the Red Lion’s distance, had forced him to learn. He never wanted to be so alone and sick ever again.

Coran was waiting for them. His usually spotless gloves were marred a bit by dust that he rubbed at. He only succeeded in burying the grey deeper. His face lit up when he looked up. “The heroes of the--well, the past few quintets!” He offered a hand to Ulaz. “Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, master engineer of the Castle! A pleasure to meet you.”

Ulaz stared at the hand for a moment before he reached out and took it. “Ulaz,” he said, “of the Blade of Marmora. I’ve heard stories about you.”

Coran’s eyes gleamed. “Oh? Do tell.”

“The Castle is infamous among the Galran armadas. I’ve heard a particularly good insult among soldiers is to wish that their enemy faces it in their coming deployments.” Ulaz let his hand fall from Coran’s and half-turned to motion at Regris. “Regris of the Blade. He’s a technologist specialist. I work in undercover operations.”

Keith couldn’t help but notice something that Coran did not remark on. The two Blades had not used their rank titles in the introduction. It would have been a scandalous faux pas at the Palace. Hell, even Central Command would have given them strange looks. The Galra obsessed over rank and status. It’d been one of Keith’s struggles--the Galra naturally cultivated mental charts and graphs of who exceeded who and how to address their superiors and inferiors, both in military and social rank.

The Blade didn’t care about that. It only hammered home, for Keith, how the Blades were the future. Barring secret cannibalistic rituals or some other ugly, dark secret, Voltron needed to work with the Blade of Marmora to build a future for the Galra. Zarkon’s reign was coming to an end, no matter what tangled feelings he felt about that. In Zarkon’s place, something new needed to be nurtured. 

Keith wished, in that moment, that he knew more about the Blade of Marmora. The other Paladins had tied him to the Blades, believing that he’d vouched for them, but all Keith really knew were three things: the Blades were competent, they opposed Zarkon and the Voice, and they seemed to be forward-thinking. That’d been enough for Keith, but was it enough to really embed them in Voltron’s operations? Keith hoped so.

The Galran wing was being scrubbed by the Castle’s janitorial systems. Little machines that looked like roombas crawled over the floors and walls, stripping away dust and grime to reveal sandstone-coloured walls and dark, almost wooden, floors. The wing was the size of the bay. It revealed how much importance the Galra had once held in galactic affairs. There had to be a few hundred rooms easily, alongside a mess hall, a Galran gymnasium, and common rooms that had the dry heat of Gal.

Regris had visibly relaxed in the warmth. His tail coiled around his feet as his masked face followed the alien roombas with studied interest. Ulaz was with Coran--the pair chatted quietly, which was notable for Coran particularly. Keith’s impression of Coran was that he was a bit bombastic, thrilled with technology and people, and always ready to make a spectacle of things. The evaluations weren’t negative: Coran was like how Keith had imagined a cool dorky uncle would be. But it still surprised him to see gentle smiles and the enthusiastic but measured tour he gave Ulaz. Regris was dragged along as well. Coran looked to Keith, but Keith had shook his head, smiling.

He was going to choose his own room in the wing. He’d figure out everything else later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update is the 19th! <3


	10. Chapter 10

The rooms were dated compared to the Palace’s. It wasn’t surprising: the decor was ten thousand years old. The colours used were soft purples, pinks, and the occasional blue. It wasn’t the usual fierce purple and vivid reds; the Galra of ten thousand years ago had been warriors, but it hadn’t dominated them like it did now. That difference showed in other ways too. The rooms he’d seen on Central Command had been relatively sterile: cacti, a bed, and a terminal for work had been the most luxurious he’d seen. 

On the Castle, though, the rooms were more like the temples. Pillows coated the floor, perfect for curling up on for naps. The bed was low to the ground, round but large, dressed in silken cloth that held heat for cold nights. There were side tables for clocks, water, snacks, books--whatever the resident wanted. A few had windows that looked out at space. Most had false-windows where images of Gal or other foreign planets were projected, creating an impression that life was just an open window away.

“It’s lovely,” Ulaz said wistfully. It was probably the best accommodation he’d seen in a long time. They were in a common room. Galran games lined shelves, alongside real, physical paper books. Regris fussed with the terminals arranged in a row opposite the shelves. “How many of us were stationed here? It looked like hundreds, just from the rooms.”

“Three hundred, give or take.” Coran worked away at a panel meant to power the room. The wires had been ruined over the years and needed to be spliced together to something workable. “You lot were always being deployed somewhere. It was like a revolving door, really. I never heard complaints about being assigned to the Castle--I think we made it comfortable enough!”

“Putting it mildly,” Regris said, gaze glued to the computers. “I’ve never seen technology like this.”

Coran grinned at the wires. “The design came from a husband and wife couple between a Galra and Altean. She helped with the technological requirements, while he designed the appearance. It sold well, and we took them onboard as experts. Some of their innovations live on in the Castle and the Empire.”

Regris tilted his head to the side. “It’d explain the use of blue. After Zarkon, we seemed to turn the colour into a taboo.”

“Blue, white, and pink,” Coran said. “Colours traditionally associated with Altea. I’m not shocked that he felt it necessary to jettison them. Have you spied a room you’d like, any of you?”

All three of them decided to keep to the main hall. In the future, the Blades would fill the rest of the berths, but for now, it made the most sense to use the larger rooms. Keith took a room on the left side, one with a window to space. Regris took the former commanding Galran information officer’s room. It had a terminal, a holo-projector, and various charts, and was connected to the strategy room. Ulaz, meanwhile, took the former lieutenant’s room. It placed him right across from Keith, whose room had belonged to the head of security. 

There were remains of the former occupants. Keith’s room had various weapons hung along the walls. Paintings were interspersed between them, depicting constellations, verdant landscapes, and strange, foreign worlds different from anything Keith had ever imagined. It was an eclectic sense of style, one punctuated by a strange abstract portrait. 

It was the largest painting and featured a family of four Galra. One was a burly light-furred Galra man, another an older, greyish-furred woman with large ears; and a pair of two smaller Galra whose fur had mixed their parents’ hues. The paintings weren’t realistic. Some off the Galra were more shapes or impressions than anything cognate to reality. It had its own charm, though. It was like a combination between Impressionism, abstract art, and a Galran sensibility. Below the painting was a gold-plate label. 

FOR MY DEAREST, it said. No date or artist was given. Keith liked to imagine it was painted by the officer’s partner, whether it was the older woman or burly man. Whoever the officer had been, they’d been preoccupied by aesthetics and the gift was fitting. Keith sat on the warm diamond-shaped bed. Androids had scrubbed the front hall’s rooms, though it’d take time for the rest to be liveable. Keith didn’t care: they had time before they reached the Blades, and then they’d have to negotiate. 

What he did care about were the more personal items. Photos, for one, and old pieces of Galran jewellery. There were instruments, showing how long the officer had been on the Castle. It wasn’t just one or two, but a collection. Several were visibly non-Galran. The officer had collected them like someone collected sea glass or rocks. It made Keith feel like he was sleeping alongside ghosts. The officer and their family were long dead, likely killed in some battle or another, and even more likely did not have direct descendants.

Even when he found the officer’s name--Meri of the Rorn--it meant nothing. If the family had been wiped out for the parents’ allegiances, there’d be no descendants. If one of them had escaped, they’d have abandoned their family’s name and legacies. Galra valued genealogy and family ties--but there were limits. To be related to a Galran defector meant death. Any living descendants would find their histories trailed back to the renamed surviving family member and no further. 

There was no one to send the instruments to. The best Keith could do was store them away and give them to a museum when the war was over. Maybe then Meri and their family would be seen as heroes. For now, though, Keith would ignore the personal touches in favour of water, Galran-grade dryers, and a nice light sand bath. The facilities’ scale amazed him, even if he knew it’d accomodated hundreds once upon a time. 

The politics of the room change dogged him. Lance and Allura would take it as proof that he was more Galra than Paladin. Pidge would listen to his logic, and Hunk was Hunk. He’d understand the logic and a need to be--to be in familiar, comfortable settings. It felt good that he didn’t even need to worry about Shiro. He’d been terrified on Central Command and at the Palace, but it didn’t matter now.

The facilities in the wing were communal. The showers had a heavy, warm spray and were lined up along a wall. As a concession to those unused to the military, there were three private stalls. For the sand baths, there were large pools for multiple users. There were no private ones: space was finite, and traditionally sand baths were meant for chatter and relaxation between writhing about. For the Castle’s facilities, by the time you were in a sand bath, you were meant to be clean from the shower. On Gal, though, water was too precious to waste so it used only sand. 

The differences between results were less stark than could be assumed. The Castle’s facilities removed the heaviest amount of grime that came from combat and hard labour--it was military grade. For civilian bathrooms, minor amounts of oil, sweat, and typical filth would be treated via sand. After what all three of them had been through, the showers were the best option. 

He felt  _ good _ by the end. His armour stank a bit still so he wiped down the inside with a cloth and let it air dry. In place of his robe or armour, he slipped on his old clothes. Some of it didn’t fit--the pants and shoes were a lost cause--but he could wear the shirt and jacket. With a bit of help from Coran, the Castle’s systems synthesized lookalikes to his Earth clothes that’d fit his new form.

It was an internal acceptance that unnerved him. Should he be wearing his human clothes? It positioned him as Keith once again--but it crossed the streams. The weird Galra who’d returned could be associated with Keith, but not Keith himself. What was the worst it could do, though? Make people a little uncomfortable? That was nothing compared to what had already happened. What mattered more was that his boots looked a little weird with how they clung to his digitigrade legs. He’d always liked the clean, sharp lines, but now they looked warped. 

Coran thought he looked good. He’d said that when Keith moped out of the bathroom near the synth-station. Wasn’t that what mattered the most? He looked good to eyes that weren’t Galran. A bit of confidence to his walk and nobody would question his clothes. 

The prisoners still waited in the brig. Hunk brought that up at the helm less than a varga later. “We can’t just keep them there,” he said.

Keith leaned against the door. Regris and Ulaz were there. Lance kept glaring at them, while Allura refused to acknowledge their presence. The Castle’s wider mood had changed without Lance and Allura watching. When Lance had tried to send the Blades back to their room, it’d been Hunk who talked him down. Allura had acquiesced after a quiet exchange with Coran.

Ulaz frowned out at the space around them. “They should be interrogated before release.”

“What would they know, though, that their computers won’t have?” Pidge asked. She adjusted her glasses. “I’ve been going through their database and there isn’t much.”

Regris’ tail swished around his legs as he looked over Pidge’s shoulder. While everyone had filed in, Regris had pounced on Pidge during the wait. They’d talked tech for several doboshes. Now, when Pidge glanced at Regris, a wide grin spread over her face, looking almost conspiratorial. That didn’t change when Regris spoke this time.

“The Empire lives on rumours.”  He reached over Pidge’s shoulder to prod at something on her screen. Pidge hissed a soft  _ of course _ as her fingers lunged into action. “Some of them will know more than you think--the captain is a good target, as are administrative staff.”

“They won’t care about what we ask,” Lance said. “And we  _ don’t _ torture.”

Ulaz stepped forward. “I assure you that’s not what we propose. What we do suggest is that you let me question them. I’m a Galra, I know how the military command works, and I have internal knowledge of the Empire’s current plan.”

Everyone mulled over their own thoughts. Keith was surprised Lance hadn’t rushed to snap at Ulaz; instead, he glanced over at Allura, as though gauging her response. For Allura, her lips were pursed and her brows furrowed. Distrust lingered in her eyes, alongside resignation. 

“You’re right,” she said. Lance jerked before he stiffened. “They won’t speak to a Paladin or Altean. You aren’t going in alone, though. I’ll be shapeshifting to a Galra, and Keith will come with us.”

Keith startled almost as much as Lance had. “What?” he said without thinking. Shiro’s eyes met his from where he stood behind Allura.  _ Take the chance _ , Shiro seemed to say. This was a good opportunity to work with Allura. He could show that he was still Keith. Shoving away the shock, he continued. “I can help.”

“Good,” Ulaz said. “It’s decided, then. I’ll have to brief you on the tactics the Blade uses. I assure you, torture and violence are not part of them.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Lance cut in. “Princess, you’re not seriously doing this? What if they try to break them out?”

Pidge looked exhausted. “Lance, really?”

“It’s possible!” Lance glared at the room in general, his body angled as though he were protecting Allura. “We don’t know  _ anything _ about the Blade of Moomura--”  _ Marmora _ , Pidge said, but Lance barrelled on-- “and now we’re going to let them near people who could kill us if they got out? The Blade of  _ Marmora _ never reached out to us. Ever. In over a year.”

People shot sidelong looks at Ulaz. Hunk was considering, if a bit put upon. Pidge was the one who asked the inevitable. “Lance is wrong about everything else, but why didn’t you guys reach out?”

Ulaz and Regris glanced at each other. Regris shook his head, and Ulaz spoke. “Because we didn’t believe you had the strength to fight Zarkon.” That earned a swift  _ hey! _ from Lance, but Ulaz ignored it. “You had an ancient weapon that had fallen apart ten thousand years ago when faced with Zarkon. The Black Lion is still bonded to him, which was made particularly clear during your assault on Central Command.” Shiro winced. Keith leaned in, trying to take away some of that pain. “Our leadership believed that you might last only a few months if luck passed you by--maybe longer if it did bless you. It was judged to be a security risk if the Blade of Marmora contacted you.”

Lance watched them, eyes narrowed. “What changed?”

Ulaz turned towards Keith and motioned to him. “Your Red Paladin became an agent for us within the Sonata Palace. While we didn’t initially know he was a Paladin or originally a human, when he told us, it became clear that to align ourselves with Voltron would not be a wholly unwise decision. The Voice’s death has only confirmed this further, along with your survival for so long in hostile space.”

Hunk frowned. He looked the two Blades over before he spoke. “What  _ is _ the Blade of Marmora? How long have you been around? What do you do?”

“I confess,” Allura said, “that I’m curious as well. You didn’t exist at the time of Zarkon.”

“There was no reason to exist then,” Ulaz replied. “Marmora refers to a rank among the Galra--all Marmora were guards to a mystic secret that’d been long lost. Supposedly, it was the urn of a protector goddess along the Glimmering Coast. The original Marmora numbered several dozen: they were attached to a cave system where the urn was said to have been secreted away. During your time, Princess Allura, you would have never needed to know of them. They were more of a tourist oddity than a defender force. But when Zarkon swore the Galra to his Voice, it was decided that all former religious practices and orders be rededicated to the Voice’s temples.”

“You didn’t go so easy, I’m guessing,” Hunk said.

Ulaz nodded. He looked exhausted even talking about the past. “Some of the Marmora became temple guards. But three families refused to forget the old ways. Rumour says that they found the urn before they left Gal, but I’ve never seen anything concerning it. What matters, though, is that they recruited other defectors. The three families became hundreds. By then, Altea had been destroyed and Voltron lost. To protect themselves, the Marmora went underground.”

“And you’ve been working ever since to undermine Zarkon,” Keith finished. The meaning of the Marmora was likely lost on the humans aboard the Castle. The religious changes would be hard to grasp without an in-depth knowledge of Galran society. Still, even Lance looked a bit humbled. The Marmora were spies and assassins and saboteurs, but they were also heroes in the most pure sense of the word. “When you introduced yourselves, you didn’t give your ranks. You said ‘of the Blade’.”

“What?” Lance said, visibly confused.

Ulaz smiled at Keith, though. “You’ve been paying attention. As some of you may know, Galra have ranks depending on their roles within society. While Zarkon has tried to stamp out the system--one of the few things I agree with him on--it is prevalent even now. To join the Blade of Marmora, you must relinquish whatever roles and powers your rank name gives you. I was, before becoming a Blade, a Tuvani.”

Keith’s eyes lit up. “My father--?”

“I knew him in passing,” Ulaz said. “Most Tuvani know of each other in the higher ranks of military service.”

Regris shifted slightly, earning him the attention of the room. “I was an Ashtongue,” he said. 

Keith’s brows rose. “I haven’t heard of that before.”

“It’s a rankless role,” Regris said grimly. “My rank was equivalent to that of a beggar, thief, or salvager in the Ashwastes.” His tail curled around his legs. “There isn’t anyone below me in social rank. I don’t regret surrendering the name, even if I still feel tied to my people.”

Surprisingly, the most shocked and stricken expression in the room belonged to Lance. “That’s  _ awful _ ,” he said. “Everyone has a rank? Even Zarkon?”

Ulaz nodded. “He was low ranked as well--in the Ashwastes, only a little above Regris. His family were cacti labourers, not even owners or farmers. During his time, it was a scandal that he became part of the military.”

“He was a Dinaj,” Allura said. Keith looked over to her. Her brows were furrowed as her arms wrapped around her middle. “I remember my father mentioning it. I knew… I knew from the education I was given that the ranks were something the Galra valued, but I never realized the extent of it until Zarkon used it to call back all the Galra, even those who didn’t agree with him.”

“He was a Dinaj, though,” Pidge said. “Who’d come at a Dinaj’s call?”

Ulaz gave her a soft, lopsided smile. “It isn’t just about family rank. We Galra have an innate disposition to following those above us in many ways. Zarkon was a Dinaj--but he’d gained the approval of Yexins and their fellows. He was Emperor, and that supplanted his rank as Dinaj. Many traditionalists felt bound to return to Gal’s side, even if they didn’t agree with the direction the planet was going. The Galra who remained on this ship were… radicals, in many ways.”

“I remember them,” Allura said. Keith felt the air in his lungs vanish. He clung to the words that came out, slowly, deliberately, achingly quiet. “They worked in security and I know they did the more… unsavory missions that needed to be done. I knew that because sometimes they didn’t come back--or did in pieces.”

A chill worked its way through Keith. He watched her still, though, determined not to miss a thing. This was either the start of Allura reaching out, or a crack in the armour she wore.

Allura’s expression turned haggard. “They were killed when their wing as pumped full of poison gas. We didn’t realize what had happened until the morning came and none of the Galra were at their shifts. Coran--you were the one of the first on the scene, weren’t you?”

“I was.” Coran looked more than haggard. It was almost tortured. “It was done by a Verusian diplomat. She’d been convinced by Zarkon’s secret service that the defector Galra were a threat to the new order, and that killing them would end the war faster.” He rubbed his mustache and looked away. “I don’t think anyone on the Castle didn’t lose a friend or loved one that day.”

It explained why everything had just been left there in the rooms. Nobody wanted to dig through the memories of what had once been lively, thoughtful, and strong people. “Jesus,” Lance breathed. “That’s--wow.” He grimaced and looked away from the Galra. “How many defectors died?”

“Most,” Ulaz said. He watched Lance, his expression gentle. “Zarkon makes a point of killing those against him, and he practiced it against Galran defectors during the war.”

Keith frowned to himself. How had the Blackmouths survived, then? He asked Ulaz that. It as Regris who answered. “The Blackmouths left during the war against the Alteans. They declared themselves neutral: they didn’t care for the rest of the world, but neither did they want to be with the Voice. There are… theories as to why he didn’t touch them. I lean towards it being a form of controlled opposition. The Empire could believe that there was a freedom to disagree with Zarkon so long as they didn’t engage in violence. It helped ease the change in government and assuage worries about lost freedoms. By the time the regime change settled in a century later, the Blackmouths had established their own society. To attack them after promised peace would mean chaos. They lived in the furthest reaches of space, so there was no need to risk everything to stamp them out.”

“I’ve heard you mention them before,” Hunk said. “But what are they really? Just a little offshoot?”

Keith shook his head. “They’re defectors who didn’t side against Zarkon. They’ve had ten thousand years to build their own civilization--one that hated the Voice and held to the old ways. I was brought to the Palace as a Blackmouth convert and prince.”

Lance looked him over with a critical eye. “You’re not what I’d call princely material.”

“But we made it work,” Keith said with a shrug. “That’s what matters.” Lance muttered something he didn’t catch; Hunk, beside Lance, had a faint smile at whatever he heard. “We should get moving on the interrogations. Princess--do you want me by the door or near the prisoner?”

Allura blinked at him before her body began to gain a purple hue and fur sprouted from her body. Within seconds, she looked like a mammalian Galra, albeit with Altean ears--ears that could be passed off as Ashwasters’. “By the door. If they get past us, we need someone to block the door.”

It was the most she’d said to him in a long while. He didn’t push: he nodded and fell in behind her as she strode towards the halls. Ulaz said nothing as he followed as well. It left Regris to hover over Pidge and motion Hunk over. Shiro tailed after them, as did Lance. It was the latter that filled him with unease. The interrogation rooms had mirrors from which Shiro and Lance could watch them. 

What if they spoke to Tethra? His stomach clenched at the thought. She’d sell him out instantly as having tried to keep her quiet. It’d been a dumb move on his part. What had he expected the others to do? Not ask the prisoners about anything when he knew damn well there were things of value?

He pretended nothing was wrong, even as they entered the elevator. There were almost too many people to fit. Keith found himself pressed between Shiro and Ulaz--Allura wouldn’t have anything to do with him, and Lance wanted to be as close to her as possible. It turned out that one half was devoted to the Galra and the other to Allura and Lance. Shiro was stuck as the buffer between them.

They reached the cells with not a word exchanged. Ulaz hid any discomfort behind a placid mask; Keith was less capable, shifting from foot to foot as the elevator went down floors. Allura and Lance spoke in the halls. Keith tried to ignore it, but it was hard with Galran ears. 

“I’m going to be right outside with Shiro,” Lance whispered. “They do  _ anything _ \--”

“I can take care of myself.” Allura’s voice was clipped. “I appreciate your concern, Lance, but I’m more concerned about…” She cut off, hesitating. “Keith isn’t the problem.”

Warmth surged inside him. It was a low bar to clear, but he’d been certain he’d not clear it any time soon. Lance sighed, frustration poisoning his voice. “If that Blade turns, Keith won’t stop him.”

“He will.” Allura glanced behind her. “And I don’t think the Blade will turn on us.”

What had brought this on? By Lance’s stare, he didn’t know either. “You don’t seriously trust them, do you?”

“Zarkon would kill the Blades if he caught them.” Allura eyed the android guards as they passed. “Keith has made a choice. I hope he can keep to it.” She looked ahead at a mirrored wall. Her eyes met his in them. She had to know he was listening. 

That was her issue, then. Keith had the option of going back to Zarkon, at least to Allura. He could take the Red Lion--hell, the other Lions too--and fly right back to Zarkon to remake the Voice’s hold over the Galra. She believed that Zarkon would take him back. Did Keith, though? She’d known a long gone Zarkon. It’d been ten thousand years. Did the Zarkon of now hold that kind of unwavering affection?

When he’d left Gal, he’d spoken one last time to Zarkon. There’d been resignation in the man, alongside a quiet mourning for what could have been. What Zarkon’s true motives had been, Keith didn’t know. There’d been manipulation to it, alongside a strange wisdom and counseling Keith had never received before. Even Shiro, who’d been an older friend, had never spoken to him like that. It’d been humbling and maybe patronizing, but he’d never been able to really digest the feeling. He’d just accepted it, even when it made him feel off-kilter. Zarkon believed he knew best, including hat was best for Keith.

Would he really take Keith killing the Voice, spying on the Palace, stealing information, and helping the Blades assault both Vrikka and Gal as him just… acting out? Being impulsive? He found that hard to believe, but then Allura had to have a reason for what she believed.

He tried to ignore his unease. He had bigger problems with Tethra. Telling the others to ignore her would set him up for Tethra to yell out her truth or have someone she’d told share it. He could wait and see who they brought in--but Tethra would say she knew information, and that would be the end of what Keith said. No, the best thing to do was be honest. The issue with that was that Lance was not interested in listening to Keith, Allura was suspicious of his connections to the Empire, and both were waiting for him to admit that he’d fucked up.

That did not give him the right to  _ not _ say anything. It just made things awkward and disappointing. Lance would be furious--but how furious could Allura be if he was honest with her? It’d give her evidence that Keith had sided purely with the team. There’d be no secrets. 

Except for the fact he’d tried to keep Tethra quiet. He’d have to figure out how to play that off without making Allura suspicious. Lying would make things worse if he was caught, but if he managed to sell it--

No. This was how he dug his hole deeper. They  _ would _ find out. Whether it was now or later, they would know. It was in the Empire’s interest for them to find out all the stupid and ugly things he’d done. It’d drive the wedge between the resistance deeper. It would, in Allura’s eyes, push him to returning to the Empire. He never would--he’d made his choice--but it was what the Empire would want. It was what Allura feared.

Her worry was strange. But the more he thought about it, the more things clicked. Allura adored Altea and its people. Altean technology, culture, language--he remembered her calling Lance’s ears hideous, a mild insult that revealed how much Allura used Alteans as her barometer for normal. It made sense--who didn’t love their people, particularly when they were a royal?--and it wasn’t a difficult thing to apply that to  _ Keith’s _ situation.

To Allura, someone who unashamedly adored her people, Keith turning his back on the Galra seemed impossible. The Galra were his people! Why wouldn’t he be tied to them? She knew he’d grown up as human, but she also had to know he was isolated and detached from humanity long before capture, even among the Paladins. After being captured and among his people for over a year, wouldn’t he love them like Allura loved Alteans?

She knew he’d been at the Palace. She knew he’d been treated as a prince. But she didn’t know the rest of it. His eyes ached as he focused on keeping his breathing even. If she knew everything, would she still be suspicious? Possibly. He didn’t know how to even phrase what had happened. It was so mixed. Mutilation had happened between lunch with almost-friends. Walks through the garden had happened before he stole top secret information from Zarkon’s office.

Allura knew the Empire was a sick organization, a brutal and vicious behemoth that rocked the universe every time it moved. But the bonds of blood tied him to the Galra, just like the salt of duty demanded he return to the Castle and Voltron. She didn’t know how fully he’d made his choice.

It was as they entered the room that Keith decided to get it over with. Lance was by the princess, which wasn’t…  _ great _ , but then if Keith started speaking to her without Lance around, Lance would come sprinting. Right now, he looked faintly chastised from what Allura had told him. Maybe that’d make the ensuing conversation a little more subdued.

When he moved toward her, all eyes swerved to look at him. He didn’t smile, though he tried to keep his face neutrally pleasant. “I need to talk to you,” he said softly. “It concerns one of the prisoners.”

Allura’s brilliant blue eyes looked him over. It was a more intense shade of Altean blue, he thought. “... I’m listening.” Lance looked pained, but he’d grown up enough to not interrupt. 

He felt Shiro shift behind him. “One of them is a cadet named Tethra. I knew her on Central Command, from what she’s said. I don’t particularly remember her.” Was that distancing himself too much? “She said my name and so I subsequently interviewed her to figure out what she remembered and knew.”

“You were afraid of what she’d say,” Allura said.

Keith winced. “... Yes. As a prisoner, I was allowed to roam within reason. All of Central Command has cameras, and I don’t doubt that I was watched constantly. Zarkon surrounded me with cadets, likely as a way to disarm immediate distrust. Tethra was one of those in my orbit, though not one I was close to.”

Allura contemplated him. “What would she know that you don’t want us to know?”

“Training simulations,” Keith said. “Meals with cadets. Sparring. I had a choice of isolation in my cell or carving out some sense of interaction. It wasn’t healthy and it wasn’t what I’d have chosen if I’d had a real choice, but I knew Tethra would gladly warp that as payback.”

“For what?” Lance asked.

Keith grimaced. “She’s not even sure. She suspects I did something wrong to escape. It doesn’t help that all their eyes have lost the quintessence glow. Tethra is a strong supporter of the Empire and Zarkon. She likely sees her gossip as an effort to return me to the Empire.”

The room was quiet. Lance’s strained expression said he wanted to say something. Keith looked at him fully and gave a nod. That turned the expression to something sour. “I saw you,” Lance said.

Keith froze. “What?” 

“I saw you talk to Tethra.” Lance tilted his head up and jutted his chin out. “When you left to go visit the prisoners, I went after you. I wanted to talk.” Bullshit, Keith thought, but it wasn’t a fiction he had the social power to destroy. “You took her into here,” and he motioned to the room they filled, “and you tried to threaten her into silence.”

“It wasn’t a threat,” he snarled. It was about the worst accusation Lance could reasonably make. “I spoke to her because I didn’t want her sabotaging things. She could lie as much as she pleased, and it would be a he said, she said situation. Those never end well.”

“I saw what I saw.” Lance eyed him. “You told her she’d regret going against you, that she just didn’t understand what she’d seen. It was awful to watch.”

All eyes swerved to look at him. The air in his lungs seemed to vanish. Lance had been watching through the mirror. He should have checked, but he’d assumed nobody would follow him. Was watching him talk to Tethra the reason Lance had been so frustrated that he had to spar with the android? He’d noted that it was violent and intense, enough that he didn’t even notice Keith passing by.

Keith couldn’t even rub his nose or temples; only Shiro pressing close helped relieve a bit of the pain. He needed to find the right words and tone. At the very least, it needed to be honest. “I know I’m under suspicion.” Lance had an almost-sneer on his face. “I knew that, if Tethra spoke to you, that’d make things incredibly difficult. But I didn’t threaten her. I told her that she was wrong about the choice she’d made to side with the Empire and to harm Voltron. I told her she’d regret it--because what we do is the right thing. We’re going to save the universe. Siding with Zarkon might get her killed. Not because I’m targeting her, but because every conflict we have with the Empire has casualties.”

“Then why does Lance disagree?” Allura asked quietly. 

Keith tamped down on his frustration. He needed to be honest but he couldn’t let Lance get away without a few cuts. He needed Lance to show he wasn’t a neutral party in this. Nobody but Keith knew how  _ wrong _ Lance was. “Because--” He swallowed. How did he phrase it? “Because Lance gave the interaction the worst reading it could get. He doesn’t think I should be welcomed back because he’s suspicious about what my ties to the Empire are and…” Should he say it? Lance would be outraged, even if it was true. “He doesn’t want me to replace him.”

Lance jerked. “What the--”

“--He spent over a year working to fill in my role,” Keith said. There was something freeing about calling Lance out, even if it was polite and attempting to be understanding. “He’s worked hard, he’s put everything he has into it, and now I’m back and he thinks he’s going to lose that role.” Lance had turned ashen as his jaw hung a bit loose. “His bayard has even changed to fit him into being a striker. What happens now that I’m back?”

“You’re full of shit,” Lance snapped, cheeks reddening. He instantly paled, his eyes glued to something above Keith’s shoulder--Shiro, Keith realized. 

Keith shrugged. “You’ve never liked me. I don’t think anyone would deny that. But now you’re trying to sabotage things because you feel vulnerable. You don’t understand that things are different for me too. I’m not here to steal away what you’ve built.”

“Aren’t you?” Lance glared at him. “You even came back without your bayard just to screw us over a bit more.”

“I came back without a lot.” His knife. His sense of self. “I know I can get my bayard back. It’ll be in Zarkon’s interest to return it. But right now, we have Red. That’s what matters. We don’t need a bayard to form Voltron.”

“But we do for the sword,” Lance said. “Y’know, the biggest thing Voltron has--”

They were getting off topic, which could only help Lance. “That’s not the problem, though. The problem is that you think I’m a threat. I don’t want to take your position, Lance. I want to do whatever roles you need filled. I know I’ve been gone for a long damn time, and that to just--just  _ slot me back in _ as the striker isn’t realistic. I haven’t sparred in a long time. If you put me on the frontlines, I’d get killed.”

Lance stared at him. “Then you’re useless, aren’t you?”

“Lance,” Shiro said sharply.

Keith held up a hand. “I’ve heard worse, Shiro.” There was something freeing about that. Lance’s jibes didn’t match up to anything he’d thought about himself in the past year and a half. “Maybe I am useless right now. No bayard, no sword, no ability to fight--but I can bargain and train. I can become someone important to the team again, without ever forcing you out of your new role.”

“I…” Lance looked a bit dazed. His mouth opened and clacked shut. Uncertainty filled his eyes. “You’re not Keith.”

Oh, God. He prayed that wasn’t Lance’s new conspiracy theory. “I’m still Keith. I’ve just had to do some changing.”

“I still don’t like you,” Lance said. It came out sullen and stubborn. “You--fine. You didn’t mean to threaten Tethri or whatever. But you still never should have spoken to her.”

Allura took a seat at the interrogation room’s table. The sound of the chair against metal turned everyone to her. “Lance is right about that. It was inappropriate at best. Honesty with us would have been easier, and that honesty should have come far earlier.” Keith winced. “I am glad that you said something before Tethra was pulled in for questioning. It would have been far more destructive.”

There would have been yelling involved. Keith didn’t doubt that. Even Shiro would have been angry, as would Ulaz, though he doubted Ulaz would have said anything. Right now, the man looked a little cagey, as though he was suddenly keenly aware of how tenuous Keith’s position was. It was something Keith had tried to avoid showing, but his hand had been forced by Lance. 

Ulaz would need to be soothed after this. Maybe if Keith introduced him further to Hunk, Pidge, and Shiro, things would improve. Not all of Voltron was hostile towards their main contact Keith and the Galra in general. There had to be some affection for Hunk already--while the vegetables were not appreciated, Hunk worked wonders with meat. Who didn’t like a person who fed them?

Barring situations like Keith’s amidst the Empire. 

Keith pushed aside the thoughts. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think things through like I should have.” Lance squinted at him. Keith chose to ignore it. “I’m used to working alone, but I’m not alone here.”

Allura appraised him with cold eyes. But instead of most castigation, she gave a single nod. “We all have a lot to get used to.” Her gaze drifted to his ears. “We should get this started. Lance, Shiro--can you keep a watch of the cells outside? They have had time to plan an escape, and we need to be careful.”

Lance left without saying anything more. There was something dark to his expression, but it wasn’t the kind of darkness he directed outward. Shiro let him leave, instead coming to Keith. “I’m going to talk to him,” he said softly. “He  _ will  _ apologize for this.”

Keith shook his head. “I appreciate it, Shiro, but I don’t think he will. Lance isn’t big on apologies.” He glanced at the mirrored wall. Lance would be standing there, watching Keith the entire time. “Thank you for saying something, though. I think that headed off the conversation worsening.”

Shiro’s hand brushed against Keith’s. It was warm, even through his fur. “Have a bit of faith,” he said lightly. “And be careful. We’re seconds away, but Allura’s right. I’d be surprised if they haven’t been planning something.”

It was too much of a prize for them not to. If they captured Voltron, the Paladins, and the Castle, it’d be the end of any sort of defender symbol for the universe. Zarkon would be able to negotiate with another Outsider and replace the Voice. Allura, Coran, and many of the other Paladins would be executed. The prisoners wouldn’t know the complete details--but they had to know enough to salivate at the potential promotions and glory.

The first prisoner they questioned was an administrator. His name was Dogan, and he looked like an Ashwaster. Under Ulaz’s steady questioning and Allura’s razor sharp logic, he devolved quickly to a nervous mess. Ulaz pushed and pulled, angling Dogan into corners where Allura would pounce, catching him in a lie. When Dogan tried to go silent, Ulaz baited him back out with poorly veiled contempt for his cowardice. 

It played well on the Galran psyche. Galra cared about three things: the Voice, the Emperor, and their honour. With three Galra questioning Dogan’s status, little things slipped. The ship, the Whirlwind, had been patrolling for three years, stopping only occasionally to pick up supplies and new recruits. It’d endured disease that’d decimated its ranks--thus Tethra joining. Dogan worked to manage supplies and paperwork. He handled payment, promotions, and transfers for two years.

Little things became clear. The only people more surprised than the Castle at being found was the Whirlwind itself. They’d had no idea the Castle was in Galran space, nor that the Voice had died. All that’d happened was that their eyes had faded from a uniform gold to shades of purple. Panic had spread. Attempts to contact Central Command had gone unanswered. Dogan believed--accused them, really--of sealing the Voice away, leaving the Empire’s military to hurriedly free her. The idea that she was dead never seemed to have occurred to him. 

The next target was a young lieutenant. Her name was Liafa and she was the second youngest commanding officer. She still had a shininess to her, like she’d just sprung from Gal and still didn’t quite understand why the Empire endured so much. Her interactions with them were confused and stumbling. She knew Voltron fought against the Galra, but she spent as much time dodging their questions as she did insistently trying to convert them back to the Empire. 

“What does Voltron have,” she’d ask, “that the Empire cannot give you?”

Everyone had been very quiet at that until Keith spoke. “Freedom,” he said. Allura startled slightly at that which he took as a victory. Both Lance and Allura needed to know he wasn’t going to suddenly turn on them, and little things like this helped.

Liafa had brooded for a bit as Ulaz dug into her history, searching for a good thread to pull on. It was when Ulaz spoke about the Glimmering Coast that life came back to her. She was surprisingly open about it: she’d grown up in a high-ranking family and had enjoyed some of the best education that Gal had to offer. Every opportunity she could have been given had been delivered straight to her, presented by her parents and their servants--or, as Liafa said, ‘hired help’. She insistently reminded them all that such good things waited for them if only they’d turn on Voltron.

“You,” she said to Allura. “You’re a Misty Isles Galra, aren’t you?” Allura blinked. “Without the Emperor, the Isles will be swamped with yarna and lawlessness. Do you think Voltron cares about little things like that? Your homeland needs you, just like you need it. Instead, you’re tying yourself to something that will never work.”

“What won’t?” Allura asked.

Liafa looked her in the face. “This idea of galactic freedom. We had it before the Emperor, and what did we get? Pirates, slavers, and war. The Emperor’s might protects us all.”

Allura stared at her, bewildered. The idea that most Galra had no idea of the depths to which the Empire had fallen to ‘protect’ the universe had not occurred to her. “And what of those who are hurt?”

“Like who?”

Allura visibly grit her teeth. “The Balmerans. The Arusians. They’re enslaved when they can help fuel the Empire and attacked when it’s convenient. What do you say to people whose races have been decimated, like the Alteans?”

It was Liafa’s turn to look bewildered. “The who? I don’t know who the Balmerans or Arusians are. And the Alteans--well, they attempted to--”

“This wanders off topic,” Ulaz said. Keith had tensed, preparing for a full on argument. “Liafa, what were you patrolling for in this quadrant?”

Allura’s hands were fists, but she didn’t say anything. She had to know that there would be justifications, but it was one thing to know and another to listen to someone spew that ugliness. Something inside Keith twisted. How could he make the Galra understand the depths of what they’d done? He’d tried it with Hyladra. She’d been so consumed by the Empire’s propaganda that she wouldn’t listen or try to understand. 

How could he apologize to Allura for what his people had done? The sins of the father were not the sins of the child, but the child had not learned better. If he went to Allura after this, it’d be hollow, as though he were trying to reassure her that working with the Galra was right--not that he understood and felt her pain, that the Galra  _ were _ horrible about what they’d done to the Alteans, that she had a right to grieve, even as they tried to fix the world around them.

Ulaz guided Liafa away from Altea. The Whirlwind had been patrolling for Voltron, yes, but that was a standing order that was on the backburner. The main directive had been to check a series of six points in space--why, Liafa didn’t know. She was surprisingly talkative, which she excused under the idea that they could easily dig through the Whirlwind’s databanks. What probably helped was Ulaz’s circumspect flattery, subtle assurances that Dogan had already spoken, and that they already knew most of what she was saying.

It was a blatant series of lies to anyone who’d seen Dogan’s interrogation. Still, when Liafa was sent out, Ulaz called for a quick break. “It takes a certain mindset to interrogate,” he said. “We need to strategize as well. If we go to the captain, we’ll have them prepared for the interrogation. She knows she’s up next, even if we’ve kept the prisoners from speaking to each other. However, if we go to another officer, we may put her off her footing, though we’re unlikely to achieve much.”

“It makes more sense to speak to a low-ranking officer.” Allura contemplated the chair they’d funnelled each officer into. “I have an idea, though I think it will make you uncomfortable, Keith.” Keith’s ears flattened. “I want to talk to Tethra. I don’t doubt she’s spoken to the rest of the prisoners on how she’s met you and what you were like. They’ve left that information for the captain. If we bring in Tethra, we can pretend that she’s managed to drive us apart--and then we bring in the captain and see what she does. If we play it right, we can have her overextend or have her let slip something.”

It was a plan. It was also a plan that terrified him. He’d told them about Tethra, yes, but he hadn’t gone into detail. Tethra would. What questions would they have for him when they were finished? What had Tethra seen and noticed on Central Command? He knew nothing about her, other than that she’d been there and she now had a grudge against him.

If it fit like everything else that’d happened to him in the past year and a half, things were about to go terribly, awfully, immensely  _ wrong _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~The next update is the 29th! C:~~
> 
> Postponed to the 6th of October! RL got in the way.


	11. Chapter 11

The break stretched too long for Keith’s tastes. Ulaz had closed his eyes, seeming to almost be meditating. Allura kept glancing at the mirror and then Ulaz. For Keith, it was agony. He just wanted to face Tethra. The sooner it happened, the sooner it’d be over. He tried to focus on the chair for the interrogation. He needed a plan. What kind of things could he do? He could play the victim, but Allura wouldn’t buy it and Ulaz would just be bemused. Worse, that’d inflame things with Tethra. The more he spoke to her, the greater chance he had of making things worse. Only intervening when Tethra began to slander him would feed her ire. She’d know she could get a reaction with the information. It’d also be just as transparent.

So what could he do? The answer was strange to him, so used to playing careful games with words. He shouldn’t say anything. Let Tethra rant and rage at him. It’d only make her look worse while it showed Keith had nothing else to hide. If she got angry enough, she might let slip something revealing about the Whirlwind. 

If he hadn’t told the others about Tethra, he’d have been proactive. Hell, he wouldn’t have let Tethra be questioned period. But everyone knew Tethra had information and they knew, from Lanne, the absolute worst version of what Keith had tried to do. The only way he could make things worse was if he got into a fight with Tethra. It’d make him look unstable, imply there was more that he hadn’t told them, and it’d inflame Tethra to possibly make things up. 

Common Galra, as a whole, were not fans of lying. Oh, it was common at the Palace and propaganda dominated, but the idea of looking someone in the face and lying about them was a slight against the liar’s honour. Tethra struck Keith as someone who hadn’t questioned Galran customs and mores. She’d only lie if pushed to it--and if she did it out of desperation, those around him were smart enough to realize that.

So silence was the best option. What a strange realization. He didn’t question it too much, though. When androids were sent to fetch Tethra, Keith didn’t say a word, even when she was brought in. He didn’t pretend she didn’t exist or refuse to acknowledge her, but he didn’t do much more than look at her as she passed. 

“I’m surprised,” she said when sat down, “that he let you question me.”

Keith felt eyes on him, but he said nothing. It was Ulaz who spoke. “Why wouldn’t he?”

Tethra’s eyes gleamed. “Because I knew him on Central Command.” Still, Keith said nothing. Tethra frowned at him. “I saw him befriend dozens of Galra and train with them. His change has  been more than his skin--it’s been his heart too.”

“In what ways?” Ulaz’s voice was calm and smooth. 

It only fed Tethra’s eagerness. “He ate with us,” she said, “and would help us. He gave instruction on how to better fly and let us watch him go through simulations. When we sparred, he’d show us human styles.”

It was almost comically exaggerated. He would have laughed if he hadn’t known the malice behind it. He’d used Central Command’s simulations and training rooms. Galra had come to him for help now and then. If he’d been fully tied to Voltron, he’d have insulted them and walked away. But instead, he’d been weak: he’d quietly fixed their grips on spears and told them how to predict jukes and dips from opponents.

He’d thought, at the time, that none of it would save them from Voltron. They’d fought enough of the Empire for him to know that common soldiers were, at best, cannon fodder. Voltron destroyed an Imperial ship like a fist against glass. What did it matter if he boosted their scores a bit for their classes? What did it matter if an Imperial soldier could fight with a spear without breaking their wrist? It didn’t matter when Hunk could mow them down or Shiro’s fist could burn right through their armour.

The real problem, for Voltron, were the strange creatures that the Empire sent. Creatures he’d never got an answer for, but suspected the Voice tied into. When he’d mentioned it to Zarkon in passing once, the man hadn’t even acknowledged the question. Keith hadn’t pushed, afraid as always of being shut out. He’d assumed, in the end, that they were just experiments with quintessence, warped to something freakish and frightening. None of the rank and file knew much of anything about them. 

Allura gave Keith a considering look. “Are you saying he betrayed us?” Her voice had a sharp edge.

“I am.” Tethra looked at Keith. He met her gaze. He wasn’t sure if it was hesitance in her eyes or victory. There were too many tangled emotions to properly read. “He was a  _ friend _ to Galra. He isn’t a good soldier--”

“Then why are you telling us this?” Ulaz asked. “Wouldn’t it be in your interests to keep him as a Paladin? A weak enemy is better than none. His weakness would drag down Voltron.”

“Because…” She swallowed. “Because I know he hurt us, so I have to hurt him.”

“How did he hurt you?” Ulaz asked, placid as always.

Tethra stared at Keith. “He did something to the Voice, and he had to kill people to escape.”

“So you assume.”

“I know!” she snarled. “He came to me and threatened me to not talk. He has things to hide--not just from you, but from me. I was his friend--”

“You barely knew him,” Allura said. Tethra’s mouth snapped closed. “If I asked you his favourite foods or ambitions, you wouldn’t be able to say one.”

That visibly stole some wind from Tethra’s sails. “... Friendship isn’t just about that.” She looked at Keith. Was she wondering why he wasn’t yelling yet, or why the others seemed so calm about what she said? “I was part of your friend group, even if you don’t remember me. I know you still love many Galra. Hyladra was everything to you.”

It made him sound in love with her, which didn’t help his situation. Shiro knew his apathy towards romance and relationships, even with the quiet acknowledgement that anything resembling such things for him came from men. He’d had a crush or two while a child. One had been on a teacher who’d been kind to him; another involved an older student at the Garrison. Shiro didn’t know it was him. That was the kind of information that, at best, made things awkward, and at worst, destroyed friendships. Keith prefered to keep what he had.

The others would believe Shiro. He suspected they’d find it hard to imagine him pining over anyone, let alone a Galra. Tethra didn’t seem to have thought of that: she ploughed ahead, oblivious to the unease and boredom of her audience. 

“Keith Kogane,” Tethra said. “Student, pilot, Paladin. You told us about your Earth religions and languages, about the oceans and rivers and rainforests. If a Galra had done the same in your captivity, they’d be executed on return.”

It was an exaggeration. But it was also the wrong thing to say. Allura stiffened. The idea of doing anything resembling what the Empire did was too much for her to stand. The Empire  _ would _ have deep questions about the former captive’s loyalty, some of which would be presented with fists if the betrayal was deep or the Galra was less than forthcoming. No Altean would do that, he imagined Allura thinking. Alteans were better than that. She could be wary--but she could never turn on Keith now, not without the thought that she was doing what the Empire would.

Keith could have thanked Tethra. Maybe given a bouquet or fruit basket. She’d done the work for him. Now, all he had to worry about was Lance. Who knew what he was thinking of what Tethra had said? It was ugly stuff--

“Look at me.” Keith didn’t turn to look at her, but his eyes flicked over to meet her own gaze. “You can’t ignore this. You  _ know _ you betrayed them. I was there for it. We weren’t just convenient. You liked us and you wanted us to do well, so you helped us. And--” She looked away now. “You still betrayed us. Why wouldn’t you do the same to them?”

There was something broken to her. She knew that her story wouldn’t work. Whatever she’d planned, it’d fallen apart. He could ignore her last question, but that’d be too obvious about avoiding her. To be kind to her, though, would inflame the situation.

He decided to be blunt. “I was never loyal to you,” he said. “I was a  _ prisoner _ .” His head felt light at saying it. “You could be kind and giving and gentle, but I still went back to a cell at the end of the day. Voltron is where I belong.” It was where he’d always belonged, even if it sometimes didn’t feel like it. 

Tethra’s eyes drifted closed. “... I don’t want to talk anymore.”

That was good enough for Keith. He didn’t say anything as Ulaz tried to hunt down morsels of information from her. Tethra had shut down, though, and had nothing to say. A few minutes of nothing and Allura cut in. “I’ll save all our time,” she said.

Ulaz didn’t argue. Tethra was taken away by the androids--not to the cells, but to a side room. None of the crew could hear of what had happened. The transfer gave them minutes to themselves. Allura wasn’t eager to speak. Keith kept looking at Ulaz, who glanced over at him in response. They needed to clear the air if they were going to act. If bad blood still festered, the acting might become a little too real for anyone’s tastes. They wanted to manipulate the captain, and he didn’t doubt she’d manipulate them back as she could.

Who was Captain Jisa? The Whirlwind’s databanks hadn’t been forthcoming. Information had been precious, largely focused on military matters; military ranks were public, personnel files behind lock and key, and any personal communications wiped clean. What they had to work with was how Jisa had behaved during captivity.

She’d been proud, her head high throughout the experience. Androids had recorded whispers among the prisoners, but they spoke in a military pidgin, a mix of Galran with other languages from conquered planets and military lingo. The androids struggled to translate it, and the rest of the Castle--largely Coran, Pidge, Hunk, and Allura--had not been able to make sense of much of it. There’d been basic instructions to stay quiet, say nothing to Voltron, even on what foods were safe to eat. Everything was treated with the utmost suspicion. It grated on Allura, who seemed to feel that the Galra should trust Altean kindness, but then she hadn’t got a hint yet of how deep the awful stories went. The Alteans of Altea were bogeymen--spectres that haunted the Galran conscious, like the Krampus or La Llorona did to some Earth cultures. 

They brought in Jisa. There was something resigned to Allura’s face, a heaviness that Keith knew nobody could really comfort. Paper-like skin would grow over the wound, disturbed whenever she faced someone like Tethra or Jisa; sometimes it’d be ripped off, exposing the raw flesh to the gawking Galra. The most he could hope for was that the wound scarred quickly. Otherwise, she was open to manipulation from Zarkon.

Was it a brutal thing to think? He wasn’t sure anymore. Keith thought of himself as covered in wounds, some of them scarring, others still weeping. What he hoped for was that they’d all scar. Scars meant Zarkon, Hyladra, Volux, Thace, Kymin, everyone he’d ever met while a captive could no longer manipulate him. They’d mutilated him as he escaped, a final blow that he knew he’d survived but sometimes wished he hadn’t. 

Jisa walked into the room proud as any lion. Her hair was shorn to ear length and dusty lilac. Her broad features contained a contempt that glowed in her bright violet eyes. She was tall, even for a Galra, rivalling Sendak with ease. Her uniform looked still sharp, even after captivity. The androids clasped her on either side by the elbows while her hands were connected by white cuffs attached by malleable blue light. They sat her opposite. She looked them all over.

“Is this what Voltron can muster?” Her voice was husky and low, tinged with faint amusement. “Two criminals and one delusional princess?”

Allura’s face tightened. Keith braced himself, but when Alura spoke, it was considered and slow. “Better than a war criminal.”

“I have done nothing,” Jisa said, “that has not been for the betterment of the universe. If you expect me to grovel in front of you, Princess, I would remind you of the atrocities of your own people.”

It was blatant bait. It was also effective. Allura’s face flushed as her eyes widened. There was no sign of tears--only blisteringly hot rage. Keith froze. What should he do? Something about the anger sent his thoughts into chaos. The only thought that came to mind was the urge to flee. 

Allura forced a smile. It looked sickly but fierce. “Says the woman serving a man who killed an entire planet. Whatever my people’s crimes, do you think that takes away from yours?”

Jisa jerked back. It was the perfect tactic. Allura would not convince Jisa that the Alteans were victims, even if they  _ were _ , but Allura could drag the Galra down to the Alteans’ perceived level. It was undeniable that the Galra had murdered most of the Alteans and obliterated the planet--likely, Keith realized then, to feed the Voice. 

Jisa’s eyes bored into Allura. “Your people are still alive.”

“Controlled,” she replied softly, “like herd animals. You have sealed them away in an unending journey to a homeland they’ll never find. Is that a life you would wish for the Galra? It is not a life any Altean I’ve known would have hoped for--yet these ones carry the crimes of their forebears. Is that fair?”

“... When the crimes go to the very bloodline, yes.” Allura looked away. He imagined the grief in her eyes; to show that to Jisa would give her a victory she didn’t deserve. “But I did not consent to come here to endure insult. You wanted to question me, not accuse me.”

“Your consent,” Ulaz said, “was not necessary.” Jisa stiffened. “You are a prisoner--a failure of the Empire.” Keith stared at Ulaz, trying to figure out what the angle was. “The information you hold is of questionable value, and talking to you is largely a formality after what we scraped from the Whirlwind’s databanks.”

“Then let me end this for you by refusing to speak.”

Ulaz half-smiled. “Ah, but formalities must be attended to. I will ask a question, Captain, and you can pretend to answer or ignore the question completely. We criminals can then judge the honour of your words.”

_ Honour _ . Jisa’s eyes narrowed. Allura looked uneasy as she glanced at Ulaz. Anyone who’d spent time with the Galra knew the obsession with honour. 

“There is honour in serving the Empire,” Jisa told him sharply. 

“In serving murderers?” Ulaz countered. “Come now, Captain. I’ve served the Empire. I know what the life is like. Death, boredom, and doubt. You’ve been on a long mission--you’ve been away from your family and friends for decaphoebs, shepherding along those barely younger than you, assailing the Empire’s enemies, assuaging doubts, and struggling to pretend you feel nothing but righteousness.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The words were sharp and tart, but there was an edge to them. Ulaz was smiling. “I was a captain, Jisa. Tenth fleet, Myara system, twenty decaphoebs. I did  _ everything _ the Emperor and Empire asked of me. I killed those they wanted killed; I aided those that befitted our needs. I saw those who served under me die--and for what? Nothing ever changed. Enemies came and went, replaced by new ones. Soldiers were replaced, becoming younger and younger as I aged alone. No sane lover would take on a soldier gone for decaphoebs at a time. Even my family, Jisa, forgot about me bit by bit. They knew my name and nothing else.”

Jisa’s ears were flat. “You’re selfish.”

“But it worries you too, doesn’t it?” Ulaz looked utterly calm despite Jisa’s accusation. “You’re forty. You’ll die soon. There’ll be no friends to mourn you, no lover to cry, and no children to remember you. Just a flag and a few worthless medals.”

It struck Keith then that this was how the Blade of Marmora worked. They didn’t convince the young and idealistic, because that idealism was directed at Zarkon’s whim. It was the older Galra, the Galra who had nothing but ideals left to live for. He thought back to the Blades he’d seen. Few had seemed Hyladra’s age, and only slightly more Keith’s. The young thought they had the world open to them. The old knew they had nothing but honour and dust.

Jisa stared at Ulaz. “The Empire mourns every lost soldier.”

“Does it?” Ulaz leaned forward. “I remember talking to civilians while I served. They had mindless flattery for me, but none of their lives stopped when I was injured or grieving. They knew me in passing--and they assumed that my suffering was mandated by the Emperor. There was nothing special in a soldier dying, even if they loved the Empire. It was as natural as sand blowing in the wind, and worth just as much.”

“Ten thousand decaphoebs of peace,” Jisa said, “and you throw it away because no one weeps for you. Do you hear yourself, traitor? You served for so long, but surrender because of weak needs. Needs that you were told to discard when you were promoted. We give up who we are in service of the Empire. Someone needs to hold vigil over this universe, and young soldiers aren’t prepared for that. Evidently, you weren’t either.”

Ulaz laughed. “Vigil over what? Conquered planets and oppressed peoples? We went throughout the universe and took everything from them. Even their will to fight or ability to mourn. Some of them think we’re heroes because we killed their leaders and taught them it was for the best. Others hate us--” Jisa tried to interject, but Ulaz ignored her-- “but believe they cannot win. So they endure us. Do not mistake either as noble. We have warped this universe to such a point where a man lives ten thousand years and monsters spring from the very essence of life.”

The creatures that’d attacked Voltron again and again. That had to be what he was referring to. They were confirmed quintessence experiments, then, but how did quintessence become so perverted?

“The Voice deems it natural.”

“The Voice would deem a Galra with wings natural if it benefited her.”

Jisa hissed. “Your disrespect is not charming. What crime has the Voice done to you? To any of us? She’s only shown us love and blessed us with power beyond imagining--”

“She drains quintessence from things,” Ulaz said. “Including us. We found records of Galra living up over a hundred years before the Voice, but now we die at fifty. The Voice takes power from her worshippers, just as the Empire’s fleet scours the universe for planets to harvest and feed her. That’s part of what you were doing, wasn’t it? Monitoring the universe’s shrinkage before the great dark and scouting planets with an excess of life. You may not have known what the Empire did with that information the first year--but the second? The third? Surely you noticed those planets missing.”

Jisa said nothing. Ulaz steepled his fingers, resting his chin on the cradle. “You know the universe is dying. You didn’t know why until now, but you knew it was true. Maybe you thought that it was the natural progression of things--entropy is inevitable, after all, and the universe has existed for billions of years. Maybe you thought it was destruction from wars to keep the peace. I’m here to tell you, Jisa, that it is our doing. The  _ Empire’s _ doing. We feed the Voice with the life of the universe, and do you know why we do that?”

“... Why?” It came as an almost-whisper. Her eyes were lost.

Ulaz pounced. “To keep out creatures we could fight. The Emperor is fleeing from a war he believes--despite our power, despite our loyalty--we cannot win. You speak highly of honour. Is it honourable to destroy the universe to run from a fight?”

Jisa looked down at her cuffed hands. Emotions flickered over her face. Keith didn’t know her well enough to read them all, but he recognized two most of all: grief and confusion. This was not the world she’d known. And like most other Galra who learned about it, she could not retreat back into ignorance.

“I don’t know if you’re telling the truth,” she said. The words did not raise her head or straighten her shoulders. 

Ulaz nodded and shrugged. “I don’t expect you to believe me now. It took me time to accept that the Voice preyed on us. I am a Tuvani, Jisa. You can only imagine how deeply such a fact hit me.”

“How does no one know?” she demanded. Life filled her, though it did not bring certainty or confidence. “How could he keep such a secret? We destroy planets. We are dying for the Voice. We flee from a war like insects. How do you know?”  _ Why don’t I know? _

“The Emperor’s control is absolute.” Ulaz’s words were calm, but carried an edge that cut like steel. “Those who discover that the planets are vanishing either surrender and are fed lies about fuelling the Empire, or they dig deeper and we recruit them. I know only one man who struck out on his own. He was executed for treason.”

Jisa closed her eyes, breathing softly. “Your implication is clear, traitor. I should not speak out about this.”

“No.” Jisa’s eyes fluttered open to pin Ulaz with a sharp look. “Tell others. Discover information. Shout this from every corner of the universe. The Voice is dead, Jisa, and that war the Emperor has fled from for so long is coming. You will know the truth I’ve shared with you for certain soon enough.”

“Dead?” She looked from face to face, as though searching for any bit of deceit. “What do you mean--” Her hands jerked up, toward her eyes. “That’s why, isn’t it? We didn’t know anything for certain. How? She was guarded!”

Not well enough. Keith didn’t speak; Ulaz had control over everything, and he knew how best to break the news. The admiration he felt was tempered by nerves. If Ulaz could do this to an enemy, what could he do to an ally?

“Guarded, yes. We were able to misdirect the armada’s attention to other locations and strike at the Voice’s compound. The number of defectors is higher than you’d assume, Jisa. We have people everywhere.” He glanced at Keith. “Including those at the Palace.”

Jisa looked at Keith. “He’s a Paladin,” she said. “I didn’t know any of them were Galra.”

“There are surprises everywhere.” Ulaz sounded sanguine about the entire thing. Keith tried not to hate that. “I have a single question for you. Do you think you can go back to the Empire and return to being an obedient soldier?”

Jisa averted her eyes. “... I’m not joining you.” The  _ but _ hung in the air like a noose. “Would you say--do you know if the Emperor is hiding more?”

“More than you can dream of.” Ulaz sounded tired. “The Emperor lives by secrecy. He knows things not even we do. To venture into the Empire’s secrets is to fall into an unending maze. I have thrown you onto a path you cannot leave. The best you can do to escape the questions that come is to refuse to look down the hall. That will never suffice for a heart like yours.”

Jisa didn’t respond. She looked down at the table, a grimness to her expression that said everything Keith wanted to know. What she’d been told would not turn her immediately against Zarkon. There were decades of propaganda to overcome, and millennia of tradition to throw away. But the moment the Outsiders were visible, she’d know Ulaz had told the truth. 

And what did you do then when everything you’d believed was a lie, and the only ones to tell you the truth were enemies? It was the same question he wanted answered for Hyladra. For Jisa, he could see her turning on the Empire--not through violence, but desertion. She’d reach out for the Blades, and they would come to her side. 

Hyladra, though. She’d been betrayed by Keith at the behest of the Blades. Blaming the Blades was easy, though--too easy. Keith had done the task knowing full well the consequences. He’d just hoped he was wrong. Hyladra knew the Emperor had lied to her, but Keith’s betrayal had closed the path to the Blades. To leave the Empire now was to accept that Keith had been right, that he might have been justified in what he’d done. But worst of all, she’d have to pretend her wounds didn’t exist. She’d have to go to the Blades and walk among them like she hadn’t been emotionally maimed by Keith’s betrayal and the Voice’s death.

Keith hoped he was wrong. If Hyladra ever forgave him, it’d be a long while yet. And could he even apologize? Not if he was sincere about it. He’d been a captive, and to let go of that truth would inflict something far worse on himself than mourning Hyladra’s loyalties.

There was nothing more for Ulaz to say, and Jisa had shut down. She refused to look at any of them. The androids took her from the room; the moment she was past Keith, he turned his eyes on Ulaz. The man looked a bit tired, but had an almost self-satisfied air.

“You’ve done this before,” Allura said.

“I have.”

Allura frowned at the chair opposite them, likely still warm from Jisa. “You think she’ll join us.”

“In time.” Ulaz stood from his own chair. “Some find it in themselves to ignore the truth. Their performance suffers, they become suspicious and irrational, and are eventually discharged or assigned to less important positions. But they don’t turn on the Emperor, too afraid of how the truth would unmoor them from all they know. That reaction helps us, but never as much as a Galra truly turning.”

Someone rapped at the door to the interrogation room. Ulaz opened it; Lance burst in, his eyes wide. “What  _ was _ that?” He looked from Allura to Ulaz. “How did you--?”

“Practice,” Ulaz replied, “and experience. We recruit most of our agents through such tactics, and it is helpful to have gone through the process ourselves. It is not easy to break through what we Galra have believed for so long. It is, however, possible.” He looked over to Allura. “I would request another interview with Jisa’s lieutenant. You are free to watch it as well, Lance.”

Lance glanced between Ulaz and Keith. The uncertainty there confused Keith until he realized what the problem was. Ulaz was  _ Keith’s _ . They were both Galra, Ulaz knew Keith first, and Keith was involved in the politics of the situation far more than Lance. Competition was everything to Lance, but something had changed. It had to be Shiro. He’d said he was going to talk to Lance. 

Keith shrugged and raised a brow. A weak smile was all he got in return. Keith didn’t know what to make of it, but he filed out after Allura and zeroed in on Shiro. “We need to talk,” he said.

Shiro grinned. “I bet. We can do it while finding a good planet to drop the prisoners off at.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Next update is October 16th!~~
> 
> I've got something big in the works so update is postponed until the 26th! I promise to link everyone to what I'm doing when the time comes. <3


	12. Chapter 12

Shiro’s cocky smile didn’t fade as they walked through the halls. Whatever he’d done, he was immensely proud of it--just like he was immensely reluctant to tell Keith in public. It made sense, in a way. If someone overheard, it’d make things awkward for Lance. But the thought didn’t quiet Keith’s brain. What had Shiro said to change Lance so quickly? 

Lance admired Shiro. Keith didn’t remember Lance well, but he remembered what Lance had said when Keith had rescued Shiro. Lance wanted, so badly, to be noticed by Shiro, even if it put them at risk as it had during the rescue. That gave Shiro an edge in any conversation, but Lance’s anger and frustration could overcome any sense of propriety. Not that Keith had much room to point fingers--before Central Command, he’d almost blown missions because he wasn’t thinking straight.

Despite the mystery, there was something relaxing about walking alongside Shiro. At the Palace, it’d have put him on edge. Mysteries were threats there. But here, with Shiro smiling, it was hard to panic. Shiro meant him well. Shiro wasn’t out to get the advantage over Keith. Whatever he’d done with Lance, it’d worked and did so in Keith’s favour.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see him smile at me,” Keith said when they were a few floors away from Ulaz and the others.

Shiro shrugged. His hands hung at his sides. Keith imagined that, if he hadn’t been wearing armour, they’d have been slipped inside pockets. Without a slouch--Shiro didn’t let himself slouch. Keith suspected he hadn’t slouched since he joined the Garrison. 

Keith nudged him with his shoulder. “C’mon. What’d you do?”

“You won’t tell him I told you.”

Keith laughed softly. “If he thinks about it, he’ll know why we left together.”

“True,” Shiro conceded, “but he won’t think about it unless someone points it out. He’s not dumb, but he can be…”

“Oblivious?” Keith felt a grin stretch over his face. “A bit self-absorbed?”

Shiro shook his head, still smiling. “Inwardly focused by times. It’s why I think he conflicts so much with you.” Keith raised a brow. “Lance centres Lance in his world view. Everything comes back to him. When you ignore him or fly better or even get attention--he sees it as theft. From him, in particular, from his status or the affection others might have for him.”

“And why do I conflict with Lance so much?” It was risky to ask, but there was something about this that intrigued Keith. It was a refreshing bit of honesty among them on a subject that’d always been verboten.

Shiro contemplated Keith from the corner of his eye. “It’s a difference in personality, I think. You’re outwardly focused--you always have been. I don’t think you understood everything you saw, but you watched. Lance talks, and you watch: Lance thinks you’re cold and mean, and you think Lance is shallow and stupid. Neither of you are right.”

It was classic Shiro fairness. Even-handed, calm, even incisive. Was it what Keith wanted to hear? Not really. But that probably meant he needed to hear it. 

“Is that what you told Lance?”

“Partly.” They came to a door--it led into the kitchen again, which had somehow become a haven. Hunk wasn’t at work, likely somewhere in the ship’s innards working to improve the Castle’s defenses or studying Altean tech to improve the Lions. The macarons were gone, spared Shiro’s mutilation, but in their place were milkshake glasses decorated in fruit. Five were the Paladins’ colours, another was a sparkly pink, and the final was a brilliant orange.

Shiro took a luxuriously thick black drink and picked up a note on the tray. He scanned it before he handed Keith a smooth, thin red drink. A sip revealed it tasted like a mix of apple and pear. “A gift from Hunk,” Shiro said, “for when we all finish.” He motioned with his drink to a pair of chairs at the table. 

Keith was just grateful Shiro didn’t insist on waiting for the others. As far as Keith was concerned, they’d done their major work for the day. The most Keith would do now would be to train or relearn the Red Lion’s controls better. 

Shiro swirled a metal straw in his drink. Purple shavings layered the pudding-like consistency while pretty flowers were stuck to sugar around the glass’ rim. The flowers were in the colours of the other Lions. It struck Keith that Hunk must be worried. It’d taken time to make each drink--preparing the flowers in advance, planning the drinks, executing them… Keith tried to buck the eerie feeling that Hunk had been in the kitchen during the interrogations, worried for what might happen. With the presence of the Blades and several Paladins, there’d never been anything to worry about for an escape. Had Hunk feared an uprising?

No. Keith knew what the problem was. Lance had seen Keith interact with Tethra, and Lance wasn’t the type to keep that kind of information to himself. He’d want advice, or at least someone to vent to, and Hunk was the closest friend Lance had on the Castle. Hunk had to have known about tethra, and he had to have worried about Lance confronting Keith. 

The reason for not telling Keith about Lance’s information was clear. It was picking sides in a fight he didn’t want. It put him in the middle of the battle, right in the line of fire. It was better to keep his head down than tell Keith and risk Keith becoming furious and confronting Lance--thus making Hunk lose Lance’s trust.

What a fucking mess. At least there were drinks.

They drank in silence for a few minutes. Keith wanted to push, but after all that’d happened, Shiro deserved a moment to enjoy himself. Even if it  _ did _ involve gross slurping noises with the straw. 

When Shiro spoke, it was careful, deliberate. “Lance respects me.”

“To put it mildly.”

Shiro nudged him with his knee. “So when I took him aside, I tried to speak to him as someone he admires. Not to take advantage, but to give him an idea of how to cope with what he’s feeling.”

“Shiro--”

“I can’t go into too much detail. That’d be a betrayal of his trust. But I can give you an idea of what happened.” He put his glass on the metal tabletop. “Lance was furious outside. I had to hold him back twice from barging in. He kept talking about how you’d treated Tethra and how you couldn’t be trusted. None of this surprises you, I bet.”

Keith shrugged. “No, not really. I’m more shocked that he only tried twice to get in.”

“The second time I pinned him against the wall and gave him a Garrison dressing down. I haven’t tried to be the commanding officer, but he still sees me as one.” Shiro swirled the drink with his straw. “He didn’t try again. I--I know he doesn’t like you.” He frowned at his hands. “I’ve known that since you both joined the Garrison. I don’t think I understood until now how deep that goes for his side. You’ve been patient with him, far more than I thought you’d be before you returned.”

“Priorities change,” Keith said softly. “I’m not happy with Lance, but there are bigger things.”

“I wish he’d understand that too.” Shiro tilted his head to the side, his lips curling down to a grimace. “I think he’s starting, at least. When we spoke, it was about his beliefs on what happened to you while you were with the Galra.” Discomfort flashed over his face. 

When he didn’t continue, Keith decided to push. “I bet he was imagining parties and women, wasn’t he?”

“Partly.” The discomfort was still there. Keith leaned in, brows rising. Shiro stiffened before he relaxed--was it forced? “I want to be honest with you.”

“And it’s appreciated.”

Shiro shook his head. “Don’t thank me for telling you how someone hates you, Keith.” Keith blinked. “I don’t want to tell you this, but I feel like you should know in case Lance gets angry enough to say it. He kept comparing what happened to you to what happened to me.”

His stomach twisted. It wasn’t anything Keith hadn’t done himself, but there was something about hearing it from Lance--through Shiro--that made him sick. “It’s not anything I haven’t heard, Shiro.”

“From who?” Heat made Shiro’s voice sharp.

Keith’s grip tightened on his glass. “... Who do you think?”

“Keith.” 

“You can’t be shocked. I’d bet the others have thought it too.” Keith sighed. “I don’t want you to comfort me. There’s something ugly about that, and we both know it doesn’t matter now. What does is that you know I’m not going to cry or get angry if Lance says that in a fit of anger.”

Shiro stared down at his drink before he seemed to force a laugh. “I’m trying to imagine you crying. If this didn’t do it, I don’t know what can.” He ignored the straw to take a chug of the drink. When he finished, he looked at Keith with a steady gaze. “I want you to know, Keith, that it isn’t true.” Keith said nothing; whether that encouraged Shiro to speak or not, he didn’t know. All Keith knew was that he spoke. “There are different kinds of pain. The Empire took a lot from me. Just like it’s taken a lot from you.”

Keith’s eyes drifted down to Shiro’s metal arm. “Thank you.”

“You don’t believe it.”

“You’d be suspicious if I did.”

Shiro laughed. “True.” He looked tired and a little bit sad. Keith tried not to feel guilty. “Do you know what made Lance stop?” Keith raised a brow and shrugged. “It surprised me when it worked. I asked him how he’d have preferred you be hurt. Should you have been a gladiator like I was? A human experiment? What would make him feel that you’d earned the right to be in pain? He just turned grey at that.”

It was ghoulish. It wasn’t fair to Lance, but Keith couldn’t quite fault Shiro for it. Keith’s experiences weren’t really worth defending, but Lance demanding a certain degree of suffering for Keith to be respected was… It treated Shiro’s pains as some sort of redemption for ever being captured. If Shiro hadn’t been mutilated and traumatized, would Lance blame Shiro for what had happened? The idea of hurting his personal hero had forced Lance to smile for Keith. But the truth would win out, Keith thought. The differences between Shiro and Keith’s situations were not just in suffering, but in what connections had been made. 

He raised his mostly full glass to Shiro’s half empty one. “Getting Lance to calm down is probably the biggest victory of the day. So cheers, I guess.”

Shiro looked him over, a faint smile on his face now. Keith didn’t know what he was looking for. Maybe Shiro wasn’t sure either. But Shiro raised his glass and tapped it against Keith’s. The soft  _ clink _ was swallowed by the hum of machines around them.

“You’re different,” Shiro said. He looked at Keith’s drink, red and vibrant. “Still you, but things have changed. More than I know. I’d--I’d like to know, some day, what really happened. But only when you’re comfortable to say it.”

Keith rubbed his forefingers together. The motion soothed him, even as it spread the glass’s condensation. “Maybe some day, I will be.” 

And somehow, by Shiro’s smile, that was good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Sorry for the short chapter! I've been preparing a novelette for publication this month, and that's taken up a lot of time. The next update is November 3rd! If you're interested in the novelette, follow me at the-wenzel on Tumblr. <3~~
> 
>  
> 
> ~~I somehow had in my notes that the update is for the 6th! Sorry about that. I'll be updating then with a wrap-up chapter of this arc of Eternal Night.~~
> 
> Sorry for another postponement--work has been brutal! I'm pushing the update to the 12th. By then, things should have calmed down.


	13. Chapter 13

A strange contentment blanketed the Castle.  It was like the pain, the suspicion, even the bad memories had vanished. No, he thought. Not vanished--that implied it was permanently gone. This was, instead, a disconnect. A movement away, like a breeze fluttering upward, but one that would come straight down. Trusting that it’d remain quiet and calm only set him up for disappointment when it returned. The best he could do was try to enjoy it.

The prisoners were left on a single-biome planet. Keith had convinced the other Paladins to not dump the prisoners on a water planet. It’d earned a frown from Lance, but none of them had argued when he told them what Gal was like, and how wary the Galra were of water. It was like if the Galra abandoned human prisoners on an ice planet. To leave the Gara on an island in a planet’s ocean ruined Voltron’s reputation and moral standing.

That hadn’t stopped complaints from Pidge as they endured the desert heat. The Galra huddled in the shade of a rock, lined up single file along its front. Lance had hidden himself in the hills, his rifle ready for any Galra who tried to fight, while Hunk and Shiro guarded the lined up captives.

It took an hour to deal with them all. Keith didn’t mind the heat, but it seemed to wilt every non-Galra who stepped into it. By the end, Lance had been demanding to know why the Galra, many of them covered in thick fur, weren’t dying. Keith left it to Pidge to explain, because the only information that Keith cared about was what Ulaz had harvested from Jisa. Ulaz and Regris had retreated into the ship alongside Coran and Allura. Lance had been visibly pained to let them out of his sight, but Hunk had reminded Lance that Allura was a shape-shifting superhuman-strengthed alien with strange mystical abilities and Lance… had a gun. Maybe a sword if things got real bad. If the Blades turned on them, the biggest immediate threat to said takeover was Allura of Altea.

It’d been almost funny seeing Lance deflate. Neither Hunk nor Lance realized he could hear them, so they’d been brutally honest to each other. Hunk was being too easy on Keith; Lance was being overprotective and nonsensical. Keith had been worried during their conversation about their friendship. Yet somehow, by the end, both were closer than where they’d started. He didn’t know what to make of that. Most of his conflicts with his friends only ended in awkwardness and discomfort.

Those friends had been Galra. It probably had something to do with the severity of said disagreements, but maybe it was also the dynamic between them. Keith could never unleash on them. To show his warts and abscesses opened him up to being scorched by fire in the name of healing. So he’d always bowed and scraped and the few times he said anything, it was at the worst possible moment. What would have happened if he’d spoken out sooner, maybe when the discomfort first appeared? He’d never know. 

They didn’t leave the Galran soldiers with nothing. There was a large metal canister full of water and bundles of rations, blankets for the cold nights, and even shelter from the worst of the sun. The soldiers could, conceivably, live there for months. They wouldn’t have to, of course: Pidge had programmed a beacon to broadcast their location. Within a week or two, one Galran ship or another would pick up the signal and the soldiers would be rescued.

And oh, what a story they’d be able to tell. Kidnapped by ancient Alteans? Seeing the Lions of Voltron? Meeting the man who’d killed the Voice? They’d have stories for the rest of their lives, however long that’d actually be.

A stray thought had wrapped itself around him like a pernicious parasite. What if the Outsiders got to the planet first? The ship had been patrolling the edges of known space. The encroaching darkness had to be close by. How fast could the Outsiders move? He’d seen how they could wrap around planets and feed for weeks. How long would it take an Outsider to get from Pluto to Earth, or Gal to Pluto? The only people who’d know that were Coran and Allura, and he was reluctant to ask for fear of what memories the question might rouse.

In the end, he went to the Altean databanks several floors below the helm. Most everyone was waiting as the coordinates were input for the Blades’ base, but Keith didn’t particularly care. He trusted Ulaz and Regris completely. They’d been the ones who’d helped him kill the Voice. Any lingering loyalty they ever could have had to the Empire was dead.

Pidge had implemented a small translation program on the overlay. It gave rough translations of the information the system provided, and let him give tentative if awkward requests for information. The Castle’s databanks contained tens of thousands of years of history from all throughout the universe. It wasn’t just the Galra and Alteans, but about small races that rarely left their systems. It even had information on the Syf. 

That made him hesitate. He remembered the Lions’ natures. The original Paladins had died to imbue machines with genuine intelligence and life. Their powers weren’t just super complex mechanics that could be broken into graphics and diagrams. Without those like Terava of the Black Roost, Voltron would never have been the defender it was.

Keith had, like every other Paladin aligned with the Castle, fallen into a millennia-old saga of almost-maybe-potentially-magical science. The lines between what was natural and just flat out foreign like the quintessence manipulation was… blurry. Could the others see their original Paladins? Keith had the ability to wield quintessence on a strange level, unlike the baseline modicum of ability that the average Galra had. If Lance or Shiro had been in his position--without the secret Galra parents--would they have seen the Blue or Black Paladin? Would they have seen what the Outsiders could do, or hear the original Paladins make the final and most extreme choice of their lives?

There was no way to test it. Well, no. That wasn’t true. There was a way to test it. If he told them the truth, they could all try to contact the original Paladins and see what wisdom could be gained from their predecessors. On the other hand, it might freak them all out to know that the Lions weren’t just friendly machines. But didn’t they deserve to know? If the original Paladins showed them the seriousness of what they faced, wouldn’t that end any sort of internal conflict?

It could also start panic and misery. Helping the universe would no longer be a choice. The stakes would be higher than anything Zarkon could have done. They were all adults, barring Pidge, but there was some stuff that adulthood didn’t prepare you for, even when you went to a military university. 

He started to see Allura’s dilemma. She’d been wrong to hide it--everyone should have been prepared for the second front of the war--but if they’d known the odds and consequences, who would have gone home? It’d almost happened before already. If they were going to do any of this now, though, he needed their commitment. That commitment would be sending the ship straight toward the base. Once that was set, there wasn’t any turning back.

He put a chip into the terminal and copied everything the databanks had on the Syf and their extinction. The Syf weren’t the only race to have been wiped out, but they were the largest. Maybe in their destruction, he could find something useful. If nothing else, it’d prove his claims when he voiced them. He waited in the kitchen. At some point, people would come down to eat. 

Pidge was caught first. She tried to question him when he said he had something to talk about to the team. After a few minutes of dodging, she surrendered to silence as she worked on her laptop. Next was Hunk and Lance; Lance complained about being waylaid until Hunk started cooking. After that, he watched Hunk cook with a quiet contentment, as if Keith wasn’t across the table from him. 

Shiro followed, alongside Allura and Coran. The Blades were back in their rooms, armed with Altean radio systems to forewarn their fellows that the Castle was coming. It was Shiro who gave the explanation to the team on what was happening and to the Blades on how to use it. When Shiro had learned how to use Altean tech, Keith didn’t know. On the other hand, he’d had a lot of time to learn.

Allura sat across from Keith--strangely, right across, making it impossible for her to avoid his attention or gaze. Keith straightened in his seat as he slid the Altean pseudo-USB on to the table. Lance leaned over, mashing Pidge against the seat’s back as he examined it critically.

“What’s that?” he asked, the words slurred and suspicious, coming out as  _ whassat? _

Was it from exhaustion? He wouldn’t blame Lance if he was tired. “It has important information on it. There’s… something I need to tell all of you. No more secrets, right?” Laughter bubbled in his throat, but it was frantic. He shoved it down, if only to stop narrowed eyes and frowns. “When I was with the Galra--with Zarkon--I learned things about the Lions. Things that aren’t in the Castle’s databanks.”

“From Zarkon?” Hunk asked. “Because I’m not sure we should really be trusting that.”

He shook his head. “Not just from him, but the Lions themselves. Red reached out to me.”

Allura’s brow was furrowed, but the Paladins shared uneasy looks. They knew as well as he did that the Lions had something  _ more _ to them. Pidge squinted at him. He took it as an invitation to continue. “The Lions aren’t just machines--I think we all know that. Do you know who designed them?” The humans shook their heads, but the Alteans knew. “Machines, not scientists. Artificial Intelligence built them. They’re so complex, we don’t even know how to build more Lions. And even if we had the blueprints, we couldn’t make them anyway, because the original Paladins did something.”

His hands were fists. He forced himself to keep going. “The Lions and Voltron were made to fight the Outsiders. They worked well, but they weren’t what they are now. During the end of the original Paladins’ service, a race called the Syf were dying out. They were the counterparts to the Galra and Alteans, and the Outsiders hit their systems first. The Alteans crafted the technology, the Galra fought, and the Syf bled for every inch of land they lost.”

“You’re rambling,” Pidge noted.

Keith winced. “I know. But you have to know the context of why this happened, because it won’t make sense otherwise. The Syf were dying out, and the Paladins didn’t have the power to save them. So they--” How did he phrase it?-- “They chose to die and give their consciousness to the Lions.”

Hunk dropped a dish on the floor. Lance’s jaw fell straight open while Pidge stiffened. Hands clapped to Allura’s mouth. Coran just looked grim--like Shiro did. 

Lance’s mouth clicked closed, then opened to spill a rush of words. “You’re kidding. You have to be kidding--”

“I’m not.” He tapped the Altean USB. “The Red Lion was Terava of the Black Roost. She was a Syf--the only Syf Paladin in history, and one of the few of her people left before the Outsiders destroyed them completely. Her… remnants fuel the Lion’s powers.  When your Lion seems to talk to you, someone really is.”

“Why do you know that and we don’t?” Pidge asked. “We’ve had our Lions for even longer than you.”

Keith grimaced. “It’s complicated.” But he couldn’t retreat with just that said. It wasn’t fair and it would be stupid: he wasn’t here to play games. “I was far from Red, to the point where our bond was stretched to almost breaking. It drew a lot of attention to what was happening in my mind. Part of that was the Voice and the bond she wanted to forge, with her replacing Red. So in the chaos, Terava appeared while Red was letting me project and see what was happening on the Castle.”

“Almost breaking?” Lance sounded wary. “They can break our bonds with our Lions?”

“It’s not easy. It’s a matter of distance, which isn’t helped when something else is trying to bond with you.” He fiddled with the USB drive. “It’s like--it’s like silly putty. It’ll hold on as long as it can, but it will fray and it  _ will _ break. It takes something from you. It makes you sick--the kind of sick where the you lose track of time. Then you start to lose the ability to speak languages.” 

He looked from Paladin to Paladin. “The reason we can understand Galran and Altean is because our Lions are powered by the consciousnesses, knowledge, and experiences of previous Paladins, all of it gathered by our Lions’ spirits. We speak the languages they do. Our Altean is the Altean of your time, Allura, Coran, just like we speak the Galran from Zarkon’s time.” He forced a weak laugh. “It makes us sound insane to anyone listening now. Everyone on Central Command thought I was speaking like I’d been brought from Zarkon’s time.”

Shiro said it gently, but he didn’t know what secrets were buried beneath.“How did they fix the problem?”

What did he say to that? “I was bonded to a Galra.” None of them said anything. Were they shocked into silence, or had they begun to realize his entire life was a clusterfuck? “Hyladra. The bond’s suppressed by Red. It can be removed with work, but I haven’t had time or the privacy. So long as I’m with Red, we don’t need to worry about her seeing or hearing anything.”

Lance’s brows furrowed. “... Distance from Red made you sick. What’s happening to Hyladra?”

Everything would have come out anyway. He needed to remember that. “She’ll be treated by the Druids.” Lance was still frowning. “It’s not ideal, but I couldn’t stay and I don’t know yet how to break the bond. The Empire’s not going to let her break it either.”

“Because it’s their only lead to us,” Pidge said. Her voice was flat. “Keith, you’re _ absolutely _ sure that she can’t track us through you? Or that any of the Druids could?”

“They can’t. It’s going to take them time to figure out how to wield their powers without the Voice.” Keith’s ears were lowered. He hated how he still advertised his feelings like that. “And when they do, they’re going to have to deal with me and Red. A wall is a wall, Pidge. They can chip at it all day, but nothing’s going to give.”

Lance squinted at him. “People go up walls.”

“This isn’t an obstacle course,” Keith snapped. “It’s a  _ metaphor _ . I’ve walled up the door. I’ve dammed the river. The Empire can’t reach me, Hyladra is sick, and I’m telling you that we have bigger issues than this. The Lions are powered by the souls of our forebears. This means each of you can talk to your Lions; it means there are powers we don’t understand, ones we can learn to wield. We’re going to need them if we’re going to fight the Outsiders.” 

Allura’s lips were pursed. “This is getting into quintessence manipulation. Can humans even do that?”

“I can help.” Keith glanced at Shiro, who watched him keenly, before looking back at Allura. “And you--you have the power too. What you did with the Balmera was quintessence manipulation.”

“I don’t know the Lions like you do.”

Keith shook his head. “Your father was a Paladin, you’ve seen them in combat, and you’re tied to quintessence. All we both need to do is build the channel between the Paladin and Lion. It’ll take us time to figure out  _ how _ that works, but you healed the Balmera and I killed the Voice. We’ve done bigger things.”

“I hope that confidence is warranted.”

“It’s better than leaving most of the team in the dark.” Keith rubbed his thumb against the USB. “... I know we can do it, though. You have every bit of Altean knowledge at your fingertips. It’s in your blood--between the two of us, something will give.”

The strange thing was, Allura’s eyes seemed to brighten. Whether she took it as a challenge or reassurance, he didn’t know; what mattered was that she nodded, almost to herself. “Ulaz and Regris say we should arrive at the Marmoran base within two quintents. That should allow us to start with the tests.” She looked over the Paladins. “Lance, Shiro--you can work with Keith.”

Lance’s outraged squawk filled the blank in Keith’s brain. Why? Allura wouldn’t try to sabotage something so important. The answer he was left with made his ears twitch. She wanted to force them into proximity and build on what Shiro had done. Maybe she knew what’d happened in detail. Maybe she was taking a calculated risk in hopes that something would give, that the peace wouldn’t just be built on lies and emotional blackmail. 

Alternatively, she might not know what had happened between Shiro and Lance and was just trying to make them a team. In the process, she’d planted dynamite and left the fuse beside an open flame. If Keith figured out how to connect Lance to Blue, there’d be a too-intimate connection between him and Lance, even if only for a moment. And if he failed, Lance’s temper would rouse from the poppy-smoked doze Shiro had put it in. 

He could complain or argue. Lance would agree with him, and they might get Allura to trade Lance for Hunk or Pidge. But the poppy-smoke would only last a little while: Keith had thought himself that it was a temporary break. It was best to figure out the team they’d be before the war’s first frontline formed.

“Lance,” Keith said, “meet me in the training rooms tomorrow morning.” Shiro’s eyes met his. The worry there almost made Keith smile. “We’ll figure this out.” The words were mostly for himself.


	14. Chapter 14

Terava of the Black Roost. He still had the USB--Pidge had copied the information from it to peruse. It left him to skim through the USB. The size of the documents rivalled a hundred encyclopedias put together, despite the fact that it was the most basic of summaries. There were thousands of planets, thousands of civilizations, and tens of thousands of years. It’d take a week of reading to get even the surface information. Already it took the implementation of filters before he found anything that was only a couple hours long. Away from the others, he sat down with a tablet and began to read. 

The Syf were humanoid birds. They walked on two legs, but their arms were wings tipped in claws and fingers, like a bat’s. They’d lived in forest canopies without technology, but when progress had happened, they’d moved to massive cities in the plains and skies. Their lives had revolved around the winds: a great father-god directed them, blessing and cursing at his whim, while their enemy was the ocean and her storms. 

There’d been a rival species for the Syf in their early days. The species, the Hala, had died out like the Neanderthals had for humanity. The only things that remained of the Hala were skeletons and a cultural memory of something that waited on the forest floor, ready to kill and eat. Keith stared down at pictures of fossil records. All Syf planets were drained of life, but some specimens had been gifted to the Galra and Alteans before the end--likely in desperation to preserve something of an ancient history that extended longer than either Gal’s or Altea’s. 

The Syf had achieved space travel much slower than the Galra, Alteans, or humans. Keith suspected it was because the technology was redundant: a Syf could fly around to nearby stores or schools, as well as migrate to new cities. What was the point in making a wagon or a car? Syf city-states were self-sufficient. The Syf lived on meat and seeds. There was no reason for mass agriculture, and so no need to cart ten tonnes of vegetables to market. 

Hell, according to the databanks, most Syf didn’t even buy their food until well after their own industrialization. The Syf’s progress could barely be charted against humanity’s: while the Syf’s diets would have been seen as scavenging  hunter-gatherers, they’d developed complex manufacturing systems to build on their nest-cities. Trucks only appeared when local mineral resources for each city were exhausted and more rural areas needed to be plundered. And with that sudden interconnectedness, it became necessary for planes to exist. It was strange to think, but the Syf had possessed computer chips before they’d built a plane.

It’d taken another few centuries before the Syf had bothered to look upward. The city-states had all been located on a single large island, similar to New Zealand, and there’d been much to explore. The island Syf were called ‘of the Red Roost’, and had marched across the oceanic, island-filled world, navigating their historical enemy with the blessing of their god-father’s winds, which quickly took on religious political tones, almost Manifest Destiny but with less genocide.

There were Syf along the strait across from the Red Roost. They’d become those of the Pale Roost due to the chalky cliffs. From there, a series of small islands, similar to Indonesia or the Philippines, had contained its own small enclave who became ‘of the Blue Roost’. Finally, there’d been a flock centered around a crater lush with jungle and water. That was where Terava’s bloodline came from: those from the crater were of the Black Roost. 

Names among the Syf were long. Ridiculously so. The only title that mattered for family was the Roost title. Children were usually raised in large groups by a multitude of parents from the same Roost. Lacking a surname, Syf had to rely on individual names to keep their records straight. Someone of the Black Roost would have been something like ‘Terava Frel Viccasa Byn of the Black Roost’. Syf names were usually four or five names long. Once a series of names was recorded, it couldn’t be used ever again.

It was wild. It was like looking into another reality. Even the Galra had been more familiar. He tried to find something to moor himself to, which ended up the single shred of note about Terava’s existence. The first Red Paladin to ever exist was Terava Neese Laora Miln Jede of the Black Roost. She’d been a young woman who’d operated in covert intelligence. She had not been the Syf Confederacy’s first choice as a Paladin, but Red’s AI had refused everything up to their fifth option. 

From there, Terava became simply ‘the Red Paladin’. She was part of most Syf battles against the Outsiders. The Syf systems saw her a beacon for justice and action, a striker whose adventures made the news and earned her adulation. Her mate, of the Blue Roost, had been a medical professional who tailed her from warfront to warfront. He’d chased a cure for the Outsiders’ contagion. There was no record of his end, but there was a single note about Terava: she’d died in a final battle, at the last planet in the Syf system. All the Paladins had died, along with the planet, but in the process, the Outsiders had been turned back. 

No one knew why. In the aftermath of a total genocide of the Syf’s planets, no one had cared to look too hard into it. The Syf had numbered in the thousands after the war. Famine, disease, and despair had killed many of those thousands. Some had gone for Altea; others to a Galran planet with a familiar biome. When the Outsiders had returned decades later, that Galran planet had been taken. Those who remained on Altea died out by the slow death of inbreeding and ensuing sickness. Not even Altean medicine could save them.

It was an inglorious end. It was not the end Terava had died for. But it’d saved the Galra and Alteans, and having turned back the Outsiders for even a decade interested him. What had the original Paladins done? Terava hadn’t mentioned anything to him. He’d have a chance to ask after he connected Lance to Blue and Shiro to Black. 

The thought wasn’t comforting. He didn’t know shit about the original Blue Paladin. His memory of them was fuzzy. He remembered an Altean, one with dark skin and hair, and a strange splash of neon, like Coran and Allura’s markings. What had their name been? How long had they piloted? He could dig through the databanks, but his eyes ached and he wanted something to drink. He abandoned his post and the USB and tablet, leaving them in a too-sterile common room for his bedroom. 

The following day, he visited the sand baths. Coran had taken the dust from the Imperial ship, which was being deconstructed for parts, and the baths were pleasant. He rolled around in them in peace. Nobody waited outside. Nobody in the wing would think rolling around in ash was weird. When he finished, he went to a dryer and cleaned out the dusting patina on his fur.

He took a light breakfast. The food goo was steaming inside their tubes, and he didn’t care to gag it down. He grabbed a piece of starfish-shaped fruit, a drink the shade of moss, and a muffin. Or at least what he  _ thought _ was a muffin. It had a wrapper at the bottom but its top had been peeled. Instead of a crunchy round top, fluffy spears rose from it. It tasted of oranges.

After eating, he stretched and jogged around the training room. He bounced and crouched and tried not to pull anything. Nothing about what he was going to do was physical, but it felt physically intimidating. He knew nothing about quintessence, really, yet he was going to have to build a corridor through which to lead Lance. There was no Voice to rely on this time--but maybe he could trust quintessence.

Hadn’t he heard it, after all? It’d been eager to show him what it could do. It’d wanted away from the Voice’s hunger. To use it, he’d--what? Butter it up? Wink and nudge? Quintessence was something far beyond a semi-magical gasoline or artificial intelligence. He rubbed his face as he leaned against a wall. He’d somehow stolen the wind from his own sails before they were even hoisted.

“Keith?” Lance asked.

Keith looked up. He let his hands fall to his sides. Lance wasn’t in his armour: he wore his civilian clothes. Keith almost chose to be annoyed at that, but he didn’t doubt that Lance was far more comfortable than Keith. Words didn’t come quickly. For a long moment, he just stared at Lance.

“Let’s get this going,” he said finally.

Lance’s frown almost made Keith wince. “If you say so.” He glanced around at the room corners. “So… what do we do?”

Keith almost buried his face in his hands. He should have set up at least a pillow or two. “Take a seat, uh--” He motioned at the ring at the furthest area of the room. They’d sat there over a year ago, strange tech crowns on their heads, and thought of their most calming places. Keith doubted it’d be so soothing this time. 

Lance didn’t question him and swaggered toward the ring. Keith wondered if it was real. Lance knew nothing about quintessence or the history of the Lions. Worse, he didn’t know Keith: he never had, though Lance would never admit to it. 

“What’s it like?” Lance asked.

Keith raised a brow as he followed. Did the question refer to quintessence, being a Galra, seeing the original Paladins--there were so many things between them now. “It’s a bit like being drunk. Seeing--seeing what happened is like getting hit in the face with a fist, but you’re going to come out of this dizzy and a bit energized. Like you’ve been overloaded and then had the plug pulled on you.”

“And you did this a lot.”

“Often enough to have an idea of what I’m doing.” A lie, a blatant lie, but Lance couldn’t know the truth. He’d never go with Keith otherwise. “I’m going to need you to hold on to me.” Lance made a disgusted sound. Keith rolled his eyes. “Not physically. But when we’re exploring quintessence, there’s a risk of you getting lost if you wander off. Keep close to what you feel is ‘me’.”

“So cold, prickly, and angry.”

Keith closed his eyes and breathed in once, then twice. “If that’s what I feel like, yes.”

“... Sorry.”

“What?” 

Lance wouldn’t look at him. “You act like a kicked dog. You’re not… I don’t know. I don’t like feeling like the asshole.”

Keith almost took a bite out of him for the confession. It would have released the tension in the room. It’d have made Lance feel vindicated in what he did. A ‘Hark, self-awareness!’ would have been Kyminish and it would have shredded Lance. But he didn’t have the energy for it, or the patience. Keith knew he’d fed the squabbling before he’d been captured. He’d tried to keep out of it, but he’d broken here and there, giving Lance more fuel for a grudge that made sense only to him. Why return to that now when Lance was finally becoming aware of how stupid the fight was?

“Thank you for the apology,” he said. Anything more would be patronizing. “I’ll try to make this as quick as possible for you.”

Lance took a seat without looking at him. “Yeah, thanks.”

Keith took a seat beside Lance. He wished it could have been opposite. “I’m going to start this now.” He said it only partly for Lance. “Close your eyes, relax, and wait for gold.”

“Wait for gold?”

“You’ll see what I mean.”

Keith closed his own eyes. Cool air brushed against his cheeks. His finger-pads were chilly, but didn’t have the ability to wrinkle and shiver. Lance’s soft breaths fought against the low sound of fans and vents. Keith’s ears twitched. He reached out with a ghostly hand and brushed against Red. Quintessence bubbled around him.

Red looked at him with gold eyes. Her greeting was not in words, but in the faint feeling of curiosity and warmth. What did he need, she asked.

_ Blue _ , he responded.

Red’s head tilted to the side in his mind’s eye. He braced for an argument, but instead her image fell away. Gold filled his vision. It bubbled and snapped like boiling water. Beside him, Lance gasped. Keith turned his head. Lance stood beside him, eyes wide and gold and jaw hanging loose. The world was pure gold, like they were in a rushing river. Lance’s clothes rustled in the unfelt wind.

“Holy shit,” Lance whispered. 

Keith almost smiled. “Hold on. Terava? Blue?” A faint roar echoed in the distance. He breathed in the quintessence from the roar’s direction. It tasted cold and sharp. “He’s here for you.”

Lance hunched in on himself. “... He?”

“He,” Keith said. “He was an Altean. I don’t know his name, but we’ll find it out.” He hesitated before he offered a hand. “I don’t know how bad the quintessence will get, and I’d rather not lose you.”

Lance’s hand was cool in his. Lance glanced down at Keith’s; his eyes lingered over the fingerpads and claws. “This doesn’t mean I like you.”

Keith didn’t know what to make off the eyes, but then it might be a natural thing with exposure to quintessence, a more benign version of what had happened to the Voice. “Good.” Keith started the walk. Lance tailed him, still clinging to Keith’s hand. “He’s going to be a real person. Not just a projection, but an actual person so don’t--don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m not gonna,” Lance muttered. “Do you think he knows me? I’ve been talking to him. To Blue. What did Red know about you?”

“A lot.”

Lance winced. “Okay, not good.”

“What did you even say to Blue?”

“Things. Stuff.” Lance straightened when another roar came. “Don’t listen to what he says.”

Keith squinted at Lance. Was he telling Blue not to listen to Keith, or Keith not to listen to Blue? “I’m not leaving when Blue appears, Lance. You’ll get lost in quintessence.” Possibly. He couldn’t make much of a concrete statement when he’d done it once, and mostly by accident at that.

“Blue will make sure I don’t get lost.”

“You don’t even know what Blue can do.”

Lance released Keith’s hand and marched ahead. “Blue’s better than  _ you _ .”

“Lance,  _ please _ \--”

“Don’t say that!” Lance snapped. “You don’t say ‘please’. Not with me. I’m going to talk to Blue, you can stay here, and when I’m done Blue will get me out.” Blue roared again, as though on cue. “I know, buddy! I’m coming.”

He didn’t want to pursue Lance. The part of him that was from before being captured said to let Lance drown. It’d teach him a good lesson. But the rest of him knew it was too big a risk, particularly with those gold eyes and storm of quintessence around them. Lance went into a jog and Keith tailed after him. Keith kept a distance between them: let Lance think he was faster than Keith. What mattered was making sure Lance didn’t bolt off the edge of a cliff.

Blue’s roars turned to disgruntled growls and rumbles. Its silhouette didn’t loom ahead in the world of gold, but the sounds seemed to come from everywhere--even inside Keith’s head. He watched Lance look around as he ran, twisting his head here and there.

“Where are you, Blue?”

Something was wrong. They were close to Blue, but something was holding them back. Keith squinted at the world ahead. It had to be something with the quintessence. There was nothing threatening nearby, but-- He almost smacked himself in the face. Of course.  _ Of course _ .

“Lance, I need you to take my hand!”

Lance glanced back at him, a scowl on his face. “No!”

“Lance, for fuck’s sake--”

“I don’t need you,” Lance snarled. He skid to a halt and spun on his heel. “I’m going to do this on my  _ own _ \--”

His pinched blue eyes leaked streaks of gold. Keith had worried Lance would get lost in the quintessence; he’d underestimated how aggressive the substance was. It’d never done anything like this to Keith, but then he’d been born to it. It’d transformed him within hours of birth.

“You’re losing yourself,” Keith said. Lance watched him, a thousand emotions flickering past. “Your eyes are gold--like the Galra. We can both hear Blue, but you won’t connect to him without me and I won’t find him without you.”

The gold dripped like paint from his eyes. “You always think you’re important, don’t you?”

“Sometimes.” Keith took a careful step forward. Lance jerked back, and Keith stopped moving. “But you’re just as important in this. I can walk through this world all day and not find Blue. I could search  _ forever _ and get nothing. If you hold my hand, you can see Blue--and once we’re at Blue, you can let go.”

Lance stared at him. “Why you?”

The finality to the statement startled Keith. “What do you mean?”

“Of all the people in this universe, of everyone who’s on Earth, why you? Top pilot, Paladin of the Red Lion, right hand of Shiro, fucking  _ Druid _ , and somehow a Galra too…” Lance slumped a bit. “There are billions of people on Earth. There are millions who want into the Galaxy Garrison. There are a few hundred of us who actually get in.  _ Five _ humans get to be Paladins. Except it’s not five. It’s four humans and a Galra who didn’t know he was a Galra, who didn’t know he was a Druid, and didn’t know he’d be a fucking--a fucking  _ hero _ .”

Keith forced back a snarl. “I’m not a hero.”

“You killed the Voice, didn’t you? You didn’t need any of us for that. You found the Blades and the Alteans. Now you’re back to take your spot again, because fuck what the rest of us did to make up for you being gone.”

This was bitterness that Lance had chosen, in his right mind, not to share. To acknowledge it, to dig at it, would make their relationship worse. The part that bristled inside him howled for him to lash out. To show Lance what heroism meant--what it  _ cost _ . How could Lance not know that being the hero who killed the Voice also meant he was a monster to billions? A fool who’d risked the universe for a miniscule chance of freedom. But he couldn’t tell Lance that--

“Go fuck yourself,” Keith said. Ice water filled his veins. Was it the quintessence--? No. It didn’t affect him like that. It was spite and anger and a roiling rage that Lance still hated him and for the most stupid, petty reasons. He was in deep already, so he let his mouth keep going. “I don’t know how a year’s passed and you’re still a  _ child _ about everything.”

Lance gaped. He opened his mouth wider as though about to speak, then snapped it closed. He did that twice before Lance finally got out a breathy, shocked  _ what? _

“You heard it right.” There were limits. He could only hate himself so much before the rest had to find a target. This world, this situation, Lance--fuck it  _ all _ . Maybe it was the quintessence, but his anger was still real. “Fuck you. I was a prisoner of war, Lance.”

“You seemed to make some friends, didn’t you--”

“You know better.” Keith didn’t smile as he took a step closer to Lance, who remained frozen in place. “You know damn well what happened. You’re not dumb enough for this. I’m not a ‘hero’. I’m not a traitor. I survived. That’s it.”

Lance shook his head. “It’s more than that! It’s always been  _ more than that _ . You know how Shiro looks at you.”

“Like a human being?” The irony of the phrasing didn’t escape Keith. “We’re friends. You know this. What are you even trying to say?”

Lance’s hands slipped in his thin brown hair. They fisted, yanking at the strands. “I don’t know. Everything’s wrong.” Gold dripped from his eye sockets. “You’re wrong, but what I’m feeling is wrong.”

“It’s the quintessence.” Keith reached out, not to grab Lance but to offer his hand. “It’s making everything worse. Take my hand and let’s go to Blue. You can get angry and blame me for this after.”

Lance fell to a hunch. Keith jerked back at the sudden movement. “He’ll say it,” Lance said. “I know he will. He kept telling me…” His voice vanished, replaced only by the rapid shake of his head. When his voice returned, it wobbled. “Blue’s mine. I don’t want you near him.”

“I won’t talk to him.”

“But you’ll listen.”

Frustration was like a jagged knife to his gut. “I don’t  _ care _ about it, Lance. I’m not--”  _ Like you _ . “I’m not going to do anything with it. I just want to get this over with so I can be back before lunch.”

“This is why I don’t want you to hear.”

Keith rolled his eyes. Fine. If Lance wanted to play like this, Keith would end it. “Shiro is waiting for us to finish. He needs to speak to Black. I know this is scary and new, but we’ve got a short time-frame before things blow up. Speak to Blue. I won’t care about what he says.”

“... Liar.” But he took Keith’s hand. The quintessence around them stilled. The distant roars and cries melted away to silence. It was as though the world had been paused like a song or TV show. 

Keith nudged Lance with his thumb. “Say something.”

“... Blue?”

“I’m here.” The voice came from behind them. Keith whipped around. A tall man dressed in blue watched them. His blue-green eyes glittered. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it here, Lance.” His gaze drifted down to their clutched hands. “But then you’re probably--”

“No.” It was sharp and firm. Keith stared at Lance. “We’re not doing this. You’re my Blue, but you know better.”

Keith braced for a snarl or glare, but all Blue did was laugh. “Sometimes I think you belong more to Red than me. But then Keith came back, and that’s that, isn’t it?”

“You’re not what I expected,” Keith said. Lance stiffened. “Terava was a lot more polite, and she’s Red.”

Blue laughed, the sound incredulous. “Well, there’s no question what runs in your veins.”

“Green?” Keith said dryly.

Blue grinned. “We know that’s not what you want it to run as.” Lance’s grip tightened on Keith’s hand. Was he worried about Keith supplanting him in Blue’s eyes, or did he not like the reminder that Keith had once been human?

“We’re not here for that.” Keith looked at Lance. Gold spilled down his cheeks like tears. “We don’t have forever.”

Blue came close. He was easily Shiro’s height, but far slimmer. “Lorne Morgenne,” he said to Lance. “I was an ambassador, if you’d believe it. I worked coordinating the universe’s patrol systems, making sure that no Outsiders got in without us knowing. When the Lions were created, I was chosen because I had a good name, from good stock, with a good right hook.” Lorne laughed. “The politicians thought they could control Voltron from the inside, but once you have a Lion--you know as well as I do, Lance, that there’s nothing in the universe that can control you.”

Keith tensed this time, but Lance was smiling for some God-forsaken reason, as though that wasn’t unnerving, as though that cavalierness wasn’t an impulse to be feared. “You’re free to help people,” Lance said softly. “However you want to do it.”

Lorne smiled. “Free to love, free to fight, free to enjoy life to the fullest with a glass of Eirisian wine, a beautiful lover, and a land ripe for exploring.” He looked at Keith. “Red, Terava--that type is for bloody warriors, loners, risk-takers. I know you envy it, Lance, because you’re a romantic like I am. But Blue--me? Freedom. Joy. Love. We’re the life of the party with a rapier at our hip, and that’s where you belong. I’m not surprised you admire and idolize Red, but I promise that water lasts far longer than fire.”

Keith chose, in that moment, not to be offended. Let Lorne praise himself and his way of life. It was arrogant, but it was something Lance needed to hear. He wouldn’t take it from Keith that he needed to stop trying to be something he wasn’t. Lance wasn’t Red: Lance loved people too much to break free like that. Lance wanted the freedom to enjoy life. He didn’t want the freedom to be alone, or the freedom to strike out without support.

Lance beamed. It was frightening with the gold dripping down his cheeks. “... Thanks, man.” He glanced at Keith. “If I want to see you again--?”

“You won’t need our darling Red Paladin. He’s built a road for me to follow.” Lorne smirked. “I promise not to abuse it. Too much, at least.”

Lance’s smile cracked. “What--”

Lorne was gone, leaving behind only an echo of laughter. Keith didn’t envy Lance. Comforting him was a little much after the fight, even if it  _ was _ quintessence influenced, so Keith closed his eyes in the quintessence dream and woke in the world outside. He stared out at the grey and white room ahead, his lips downturned as he thought about what happened. A body fell against his, interrupting his reverie.

Lance moaned and muttered something. Keith shoved at him. The limp body rocked over his legs. Warm breaths puffed against his feet. “I don’t feel so good.”

“It’s the quintessence.” He thought so, at least. “Get off.”

Lance heaved out a sigh. “I can’t. I’m too dizzy.”

“For someone who desperately wanted to be away from me, you’re a little too close now.”

“That was private!”

Keith snorted. “And laying in my lap isn’t?”

Lance sucked in a breath, probably to use it to make excuses, when someone cleared their throat. Keith knew who it was before he looked. “Shiro,” Keith said. “Were we gone that long?”

“No, but I was getting concerned for Lance. He was… glowing.”

Lance bolted upright. A showy smile formed. “I’m always glowing, Shiro.” He stood and spread his arms, framing his body for view. “Honestly, that wasn’t much of anything. More walking and waiting than talking to Blue.” Something flickered over his face, and his eyes darted to Keith then back to Shiro. “Anyway, I’m off to lunch. I’ll save you something, Shiro.”

But not Keith. How feigned was his attitude? There was something twitchy about Lance, something artificial. Lance swaggered out, his stride tinged with a stumble. His reflection in the white walls was dazed. Shiro stood aside as Lance passed. The only relief to Keith was that Shiro looked as confused as Keith felt.

Shiro approached. His eyes picked Keith apart--not cruelly, but thoughtfully, deliberately. “He was in a  _ strange _ mood, wasn’t he? Did you, uh…”

“Argue?” Keith said. “Fight? There was a bit of a problem with quintessence and there’s something he really, really doesn’t want me to know. I’d ask you but I don’t think you’d answer.”

“Would you actually want me to?”

Keith half-smiled. “I’d think less of you if you did. I don’t like Lance, but I--I think I admire how you work with him. He’s not easy to handle.”

“It helps that he sees me as more than just a commanding officer.” Shiro sat beside him. He wore his civilian clothes, like Lance had. “He was pretty shaken after what he saw. He only gets really cocky like that when he’s insecure. What did Blue say to him?”

Keith shrugged. “He might have said something to Lance over their bond, but mostly he just… talked a lot about how great being the Blue Paladin is, how it’s luxury and freedom and romance. Like a charitable Casanova.”

“That sounds like Lance’s kind of thing.”

“He didn’t seem upset by it.”

Shiro leaned back as he crossed his legs. His chin went into his metal palm. “Who was Blue?”

“Lorne Morgenne. He was an aristocrat, I think, but mostly a military man.”

“... Who do you think Black will be?”

Keith paused, thinking before answering. What answer did Shiro want? “I think Black will be military, likely from a high rank because Galran society hadn’t been changed like Zarkon wanted it yet. In the vision I got from Terava, Black was--she put duty before all else. As the Galra would describe it, the salt of duty before the passion of blood. I think she went to her death determined to find the best successors she could.” Keith didn’t look at Shiro as he continued. “I think she’s succeeded this time.”

Shiro didn’t laugh or sigh. “You’re being too kind about it.”

“Why would you think it’s not true? You know I’m not a fan of lying.”

“Because I doubt Black really wanted us to be in a landing pattern for over a year, have you hurt for just as long, and have someone who can’t quite get us all on the same page.”

Keith shook his head. “You’re trying, and the capturing wasn’t your fault.”

“I agreed that we should go after Allura to Central Command, despite your concerns and Allura’s directions. I should have taken both into consideration more. We’re lucky that someone didn’t die.”

Why was Shiro sharing this? Keith wanted to know, wanted to comfort Shiro, but Shiro didn’t just bare his soul for no reason. He’d always been a man who kept his personal thoughts and doubts to himself. It didn’t make him cold or unfriendly, but it made him difficult to truly understand. 

Keith reached out and pressed two fingers to the crook of Shiro’s arm. “There was no good choice,” Keith said flatly. “If you left Allura, that’d hurt morale and weaken our fighting capabilities. You’d also have lost respect among the group, which would have hurt leadership. I could say what I did because nobody reported to me. They could think I was an asshole or cold and it’d have no ramifications because they already didn’t care for me.”

Keith rubbed a thumb into the firm flesh. It was too close, but it felt like Shiro needed the comfort, and he’d never accept a hug after what he’d shared. “You’ve been an excellent leader, Shiro.” Shiro raised a single dark brow. “Seriously. If it’d been anyone but you as the Black Paladin, we’d have fallen apart in getting the Lions in the first place--forget actually forming Voltron. The others--me too--we’re not stupid. We’re not incompetent. But you pulled us together and gave us direction.”

Keith laughed softly. “If it’d been just us, we’d still be on Arus arguing. Or dead.”

“You’d have figured it out.”

“Would we?” Keith smiled as his head tilted to the side. “Lance and me--we were different. Lance from before I was captured would have never worked with me without a threat, and by the time the threat came, we wouldn’t have been prepared. Pidge? She was solitary, and she tried to leave even with your guidance. Hunk would never have found the support he needed to overcome his fear. You’re the best leader we could have gotten, Shiro. Anyone who tells you otherwise--your doubt included--isn’t thinking.”

“... I missed you. I missed you so much.” Shiro ran his fingers through the tuft of white hair. “I don’t want to seem childish, but I missed having someone to talk to. Coran’s here, and he’s a good friend, but he doesn’t know everything.” Shiro’s smile was silver. “He doesn’t know what they made me into before Kerberos.”

They’d made Shiro from star student to prodigy and celebrity. People had loved him at the Garrison. It was hard not to: Shiro was brilliant, talented, charismatic, and warm. He was every good adjective in the dictionary. But when the Kerberos mission had been floated, they’d needed a face for it--a face that could do more than smile. Shiro had been the perfect choice, though Shiro had never seemed to understand why.

The media circus had dominated news stations. Shiro had been paraded through talk shows. He wasn’t a movie star, but he was something novel and adventurous, and people had gravitated to him. Those at the Garrison who’d known Shiro before divided themselves into two camps. There were those who sneered at the circus and muttered darkly about being passed over for the opportunity, and then there were the admiring students Shiro had helped who only fell harder.

Keith had known, theoretically, that it was isolating. Those who Shiro had thought of as friends turned on him in jealousy or tried to use their friendship for advantages. Those Shiro could have befriended became starstruck and nervous. There’d just been Keith left.

He leaned in to Shiro. Not close enough to rest against him, but close enough for their warmth to be shared. “I’m sorry,” Keith said quietly. “I lived it with you, and I only partly understand it.” He muffled a sigh. It would have released the tension balled in his chest. “I think--I think they could understand some of it in time, but the war’s not the place for them to learn, is it?”

Shiro shook his head. “They don’t need to understand. I know it’d make things worse with Lance. Just having you is more than enough.”

“I’m glad to be back, then, for more reasons than the obvious.” He held out a hand. “Do you want to talk to Black, or do you want to have some time to breathe?”

Shiro took his hand. “Just a moment. I don’t know what I’m going to say to…”

“Her. She’s a tall, built Galra. Strict but persuasive and not hard. Don’t worry too much on what to say. She’ll want to say a lot--all the Lions have so far.”

“I’m not sure if that’s comforting.”

“Shouldn’t it be?” Keith grinned for Shiro. There was wariness in Shiro’s eyes, a lingering distrust at anything unknown. It conjured a cold feeling in Keith. Shiro had once been a man who’d flown into the unknown. He’d gushed over the what ifs of Kerberos, and how he’d be going further than any other human into space. There’d been jokes about aliens, and every time Shiro heard them, his eyes had glinted and a smile spread over his face. Now, the thought of the unknown only brought memories of pain. Keith wished, to some degree, that he knew more about what had happened to Shiro. Maybe he could have made things better instead of ineffectual comforting words. “She’s your Lion, and she chose you. She’ll want to help you in every way she can, because she gave her life to fight the enemy you face now.”

Shiro choked on a laugh. “Zarkon’s still her paladin.”

“He was there first,” Keith acknowledged, “but if he was her Paladin in truth, would she be here with us? We know the Lions can move on their own. Blue brought us to the Castle, after all. Black chose you and she wants you. Not Zarkon.” He swallowed. “Zarkon lost his right to Black when he took in the Voice. Voltron was made to fight the Outsiders, and that’s why Black left him.”

“He told you that?”

Keith shook his head. “About Black leaving him? No. But it’s easy to guess. She was in the Castle, sealed away from him. Black never tried to go back to him until Central Command. And I do think there was some strange things happening that we don’t know of. She wouldn’t have gone by choice. I know that now after seeing Terava and listening to how Black spoke.”

“... Your certainty is comforting.” Shiro entwined his fingers with Keith’s. “We should do this. I’m sorry.” He frowned and shook his head. “No, that’s not right.  _ Thank you _ for helping me.”

Keith smiled. “You’re welcome. But I should thank you too--for always being there.” He shifted and continued before Shiro could interject. “Things are going to get confusing in the quintessence. Everything’s bright, chaotic, energizing--anything you feel is going to be amplified, if Lance is anything to go by. So I’m going to need you to hold on tight and follow me. I’m going to try to get you to Black quickly.”

_ I trust you _ echoed in his ears as he closed his eyes and reached out. His fingers pushed into the rushing river of gold. Sound turned tinny then wobbling and low. Shiro’s warmth followed him as he pushed through the current into the centre of the river’s storm. Sound cleared. Shiro’s panting became audible. “Keith?” 

“Here.” He reeled Shiro in gently. The man looked dazed. There were streaks of gold in his black eyes, more visible than Lance’s had been from the colour and, frankly, because Keith preferred to look into Shiro’s eyes more than Lance’s. “This is--it feels like a stimulant.”

Space speed. Gold angel dust. He liked those names more than the word ‘quintessence’. Quintessence was magical and powerful. Space speed made it sound like something he could laugh about. “It’ll exaggerate what you’re feeling, so if you start to feel anything that might get out of control--”

“I’ll say something,” Shiro said. “I promise. I don’t think much will happen, though. Lance is… control isn’t his best asset.”

“I can vouch for that after the quintessence trip.”

Shiro nudged him. “Play nice.” Shiro’s hand lingered on Keith’s shoulder. The warmth flowed down through his arm like quintessence. 

Keith was determined to ignore it. He held on to Shiro as he continued their walk. “Black!” His voice was slightly hoarse. “We need to talk to you--” A roar in the distance cut him off. It echoed like thunder. Shiro stiffened, but Keith didn’t let him stop. “We’re coming!”

Shiro’s walk was jerky and stilted. “How big are they in this world?”

“I’ve never seen them as Lions,” Keith said. “They always turn up as who they once were. So if you see a big Galra, that’s her.”

Shiro hummed in acknowledgement, though his expression was still wary. Keith walked them both toward the Lion’s roar. Occasionally, Keith called out for Black, just to make sure they were headed in the right direction. They always were. Which is why he became concerned after what felt like an eternity of walking. 

“Black?” he called out. “Is something wrong?”

Shiro’s eyes gushed gold. “What do you mean?”

“Uh.” He didn’t want to worry Shiro. In the quintessence, it’d be amplified to God knew what, but he couldn’t lie either. “I think there might be something interfering with the connection. Black!”

Shiro was frozen in place. Keith’s gentle tugs wouldn’t guide him along. “It’s Zarkon,” Shiro said finally. “His connection is smothering mine. We should leave--”

“No,” Keith said firmly. “You’re the Black Paladin. Zarkon isn’t. He gave up that right when he took in the Voice. If he’s here, we’ve got Black on our side.”

“That didn’t help us at Central Command.”

He shook his head. “It’s different now. You’ve had Black longer, and I can use quintessence. Trust in me and Black--” A tall shadow formed ahead. He recognized the shape instantly. When the shadow spoke, his hands fisted. 

“I didn’t think you so unwise to come here, Keith,” Zarkon said. Shiro shuddered beside him, his fears amplified several magnitudes by quintessence. “The Black Lion is mine, and that you’d think to commune with her is almost an insult.”

“She wants to speak with Shiro. Not you.”

Zarkon stepped forward. The quintessence parted for him. His eyes were brilliant, sickly yellow, and they roved through the landscape, drinking in the vision of life. “She’s always spoken to me. Just like you.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Keith snapped.

Zarkon had the gall to look amused. “You’ve been calling for me for years. Before Gal, you were lost, abandoned by humans and torn away from the Galra. You always hungered for something you understood.” He glanced at Shiro. “You can’t ever understand him, Shirogane. Just like you can’t understand the Black Lion.”

Keith shook his head. “Get out. We’re going to talk to Black. She wants Shiro--not you.”

“You want to make me angry,” Zarkon noted. “Will that make you feel better for what you did to us? If you’re waiting for me to shout and rage, you will wait a long time.”

“That’s enough.” Shiro stepped forward. His voice had a faint shake to it. “The Black Lion’s chosen her Paladin. Did you hear her roar?”

Something flashed over Zarkon’s face. Keith almost called it vulnerable. “... You have a Druid guiding you. Otherwise, you’d have heard nothing.” He turned to look ahead at where Keith and Shiro faced, as though he might glimpse Black.

That straightened Shiro’s back. “You didn’t hear her, and you never will.”

Zarkon opened his mouth to speak. Black roared again. He spoke, but Keith couldn’t make out what it was. His expression became troubled. Keith looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of black or white. Everything was still gold, though. Shiro stared down Zarkon, waiting for him to move. His right hand, even in the quintessence dream, glowed a pale Galra purple. 

Zarkon reached into his belt and pulled free a bayard. The black one, though it was dashed by streaks of red, like a dream had melded them together. Was Zarkon real, or just a nightmare? Keith raised a hand and breathed in the gold like it was smoke. It smelled of musk and ozone and tasted of something earthy. The world spun around him. Only his grip on Shiro’s hand kept him from falling. 

People shouted his name. Heat blossomed against his chest, as though he’d been cut, but there was no cool steel. What was happening? Quintessence had never dazed him like this. His nature as a Druid meant that he knew the ebbs and flows of the power. He lungs struggled against the overwhelming strength of quintessence. It was like drowning in air.

“What are you doing to him?” 

“Only  _ your _ presence is new to this. You’re tainted.”

Shiro wasn’t tainted. He tried to say that, but he was interrupted by a new voice, a woman’s voice, low and husky but full of sharp words. “Paladin!” Gnarled fingers grabbed at his collar, wrenching him up. “Open your eyes.” People were still shouting, but the woman was closer. “Shut up, both of you!”

The silence was a blessing. He forced his eyes open partly. A dark-furred Galra woman peered down at him. Her eyes were a powdery blue. “You almost killed yourself,” she told him.

“Wha--?”

She slipped her arms under him and hauled him up with ease. “Both of you are idiots,” she said as she turned to look at the tense standoff between Zarkon and Shiro. “Your fight doesn’t matter. The Red Paladin was killing himself through the weaving.”

Shiro’s face was blank, while Zarkon’s shifted to something uncomfortable. “I didn’t think it would turn to this so soon,” Zarkon said. 

Shiro glared at Zarkon before he turned to the Galran woman. His expression softened. “What’s going on, Black?”

“Quintessence manipulation was warped by the Outsider. Druids used the quintessence of others, and so their lives never waned.” She peered into Keith’s eyes. It wasn’t soft, but clinical. “But without that abomination, those like the Red Paladin are now using their own life force.”

“Allura,” Keith slurred. “Is she okay?”

Black almost smiled. “She noticed before she collapsed. This universe’s life force is hungry after millennia of that parasite.” She looked up. “You--you used to be mine.” Zarkon froze. There was something ashamed about his stance, as though he was becoming aware that things had shifted beneath him. “You want my forgiveness. You wanted me to help you control the universe, and now that the parasite’s dead, you want me to return so we can save what remains of the forest you set fire to.”

“The needs of the many--”

“--outweigh the lives of the many? You’ve killed so many more than I feared. You were my Paladin once, Zarkon of the Ashwastes, of scavengers, and now of murderers. You were of my people once; now, you’re an enemy.”

“You’re bound to me.”

Black bared her teeth. “No longer by choice. This one,” and here she looked at Shiro, “hasn’t betrayed me.”

Zarkon stared at her. The expression looked almost bereft. “... I see. You’ll regret it, Diatha. He’s a choice from desperation, and I will not leave you to this mistake. I will always be waiting.”

Diatha snarled out something wordless but Zarkon had faded from the golden dream. Shiro looked around, his hand fisted as he waited for Zarkon to strike. But Zarkon didn’t return. Diatha eased Keith down, though she hooked her arm around him. 

“You don’t need to fear,” she said to Shiro. “He’s gone. I’ve closed that door, and I will tear him to pieces if he returns.”

Shiro still looked uneasy, an expression not helped by the stains of gold on his face. “Keith, are you okay?”

“Weak,” he offered. “And a bit dizzy. But it’s not as bad as before. You’re helping, aren’t you, Diatha?”

“I’m using my quintessence stores to fuel you.” Her fingers tangled into his fur and combed through it with a strange affection. “You’ll collapse outside of here. Takashi, you’ll have to make sure he rests after this.”

_ Takashi _ . Shiro didn’t look surprised but instead shocked and pleased. “He’ll be fine with me.” His fist powered down and he went to Keith’s side. He took up the rest of Keith’s weight, to the point where Keith felt like a ragdoll. “I’m sorry we met like this, Black.”

“Diatha,” she said. “Diatha of the Yexin. We’ve met long before now--in your dreams, between the beats of your heart; I know you, Takashi, like I know myself.” She looked over Keith’s head, which Keith hated. Even as as Galra, he was stupidly short. 

But something more important became noticeable. Shiro’s heart thundered where Keith was pressed against. “Then you know--?”

“Yes.” 

Shiro radiated heat. It’d have been soothing if it didn’t feel like it came from embarrassment. “We’ll be able to talk after this?”

“As much as you please.” Diatha’s warmth rivalled Shiro’s flush. “You’ve harboured so much doubt. Let go of it. I chose you. Zarkon betrayed my sacrifice, but so long as you defy the Outsiders, you have my faith and power.”

Shiro’s smile was brilliant and heartbreaking. Keith’s hands bunched into fists. It shouldn’t come with strings, he thought. Black  _ knew _ Shiro. She knew he’d do the absolute best he could. So why tell him the caveats? Was she so traumatized by Zarkon’s betrayal that she struggled to trust even someone like Shiro?

Or--and the thought struck him like lightning--was it a warning not to Shiro, but to the one other person listening, the one other person who Zarkon laid claim to and who’d been a captive among the enemy? Part of him called himself vain and stupid. The rest eyed Diatha. Not everyone operated in unsaid words and implications, but he’d found that most everyone who was a Galra  _ did _ . 

He looked at Diatha through narrowed eyes. She was looking straight at him. Shiro didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in relief for which Keith couldn’t blame him. Keith leaned into Shiro and gave Diatha a flinty smile. Red--Terava--trusted him. That was what mattered. And when the Outsiders were dead and Zarkon defeated, Diatha would have to leave her concerns and worries behind.

It’d be a new day, one past the eternal night of Zarkon and the Outsiders.

Yet even as he thought it,, something inside him seemed to tear. The gold faded from view, replaced by grey and white. Without Diatha, his body collapsed in on itself, weighed down by exhaustion and the heavy taste of quintessence. Someone--it had to be Shiro--caught him. HIs limbs flailed out. His head thumped against the tile. The world went black as someone shouted his name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient! My power's back on, and I'm ready to keep working on the story. :'> I've got some interesting stuff happening this month, so if you want to keep up to date on some publishing stuff I'm doing, you can find me at the-wenzel.tumblr.com! For the next chapter:
> 
> PROJECTED WORDCOUNT: 9k  
> PROJECTED UPDATE: December 16th
> 
> (An agent's expressed interest in my work so I've put a lot of things on pause. However, I should be back in action by Tuesday!)


	15. Chapter 15

He woke sprawled on a couch. A pillow cushioned his head, while a blanket covered his body. Someone had stripped him of armour, leaving him in a black undersuit. It would have been drafty if not for the blanket. A yawn cracked his jaw and he arched his back, wincing at the series of pops. His head weighed like concrete or a bowling ball. Even his ears refused to move. He wondered what colour his eyes were. He remembered what Diatha had told them about him being drained of quintessence, but he’d also been surrounded by it, using it.

A shadow blocked the ceiling’s light. Its shape was familiar. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like garbage,” Keith said. He didn’t try to push himself up. “How long have I been out?”

Shiro reached down and brushed his fingers over Keith’s ears. It was only a quick touch--a glance that Shiro recoiled from when Keith shifted under the feeling. “Only a few hours. I’d have brought you to your room, but I don’t know if you have a lock engaged.”

“I think I do.” He pushed himself up now. His arms ached and threatened to give, but he adjusted his body and when he fell, he was propped up on the couch arm. “Allura and the others--?”

“She got Pidge done, but Hunk is happening tomorrow.” Shiro ruffled his hair, as though trying to shake out the stress. “I think he’s nervous, especially when she came out gasping and almost collapsed.”

“He’s not a big fan of risks.”

Shiro shook his head. “And now he’s seen a lot. Hopefully Lance can talk him around. Do you want something to drink?”

“Cold, please, and not water.”

“Living dangerously on an alien spaceship.”

Keith laughed. “I spent so much time with the Empire, I don’t think anything can surprise me. So long as it isn’t literal salt water, I’ll be happy.”

Shiro’s shadow moved, releasing the light to assault Keith’s eyes. “And what did they call that?”

“Mahadra Spring water. It was a delicacy.” Keith stifled another yawn. “How are you holding up? Things got weird there.”

Liquid poured into a cup. Keith didn’t push himself up to watch. “... I’ve been thinking on it.  _ He _ should never have been there, but that Black can push him out is good.” 

“But.”

“But he could still do what he did at Central Command. Until I know what that is, I’m not going to fly Black against him.” Shiro returned to his post above Keith and handed him a glass of something cherry pink. “The more important question, though, is how you’re doing.”

Keith shrugged. “I’m just resting.”

“I don’t know if you’re evading or taking the question at face value.” Shiro went around the couch to gingerly sit on the glassy table. It couldn’t have been made from glass--Shiro was too massive for it to support--but something inside Keith cringed. “We both saw Zarkon. How are you holding up with that? Especially with what he said?”

“It’s… It’s something. I’m feeling something. Maybe a bit of nervousness.” He took a long drink, trying to buy himself some time. It tasted like avocado and mango. “He can say what he wants, but I’m not going back. There’s--Shiro, there isn’t going back. I didn’t just burn that bridge. I torched the city behind me as I went.”

Shiro laughed softly. Keith raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re a lot more colourful now.” He reached out to prod Keith in the side, but the touch lingered. “I want you to know, Keith, that you didn’t make a mistake.”

Keith gave a wry smile but said nothing. Shiro leaned in. “I’m honest, Keith. You did something wildly brave, and I know you’ll say it was just surviving, but killing the Voice took something more than most people have.” He swallowed, his loam-dark eyes fixated on Keith’s face. “It all changed you--killing the Voice, your time with the Empire, the pain. I know what’s that like.” He pressed his flesh hand against the crook of his robotic arm. “I hate a lot of the things I did--of what I can remember, at least. But if you see something good in me, something brave or gentle, I want you to know that I see that in you too.”

“Thank you,” was al he could think of as a reply. Shiro was being too kind, but Keith wasn’t sure how he’d have reacted to strict orders to get up and move. The base visit was going to happen tomorrow. There were things to do, things to prepare for; lounging around only left them more unprepared. And how were Ulaz and Regris? Once again, he’d vanished on them. 

He couldn’t hate himself for it. That’d qualify as wallowing. But he did feel frustrated and annoyed. He chugged the last of the drink and sat up fully. His legs were splayed out and stiff. He muttered a curse as he stretched them before he looked to Shiro.

“I’m going to need some help up between the pep talks.”

Shiro laughed and stood, offering a hand. “I promise not to carry you this time.”

“Did anyone see last time?”

“Allura,” Shiro said, “and Coran. I told them what happened just in case something went… really wrong. I didn’t want to just put you on a couch and wait.”

Keith grasped his hand. The force behind Shiro’s pull interested him more than it should. “Good to know people saw me passed out. Lance wasn’t around?”

“I have no idea where he is.” Shiro steadied Keith with a solid hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think you need to worry much about any comments from him. We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

Keith grimaced. “The Blades, I’m guessing. Did Ulaz or Regris do something?”

“No, it’s not them.” Shiro stepped away, his hands moving to his own waist. He stared out at the room. His expression wasn’t grave, but it wasn’t comforting either. “What do you know about the Blades?”

“That’s it, then.” Keith tailed after Shiro, but he kept his voice mild. “You’re suspicious. Or you’re just leery.”

“Leery would be the word for it. We don’t know what they believe or do beyond fighting Zarkon.” Shiro sighed, his shoulders slumping. “The enemy of my enemy might become my enemy when we’ve won. For all we know, they’ll see us as the next problem to solve. I don’t want to believe it, and I’d really rather be wrong, but I feel like we’re running towards something we don’t fully understand yet.”

“We know they’re five hundred years old and former guards of the Voice.”

Shiro shook his head. “That’s the who. It’s not the why and how. They got the shard to kill the Voice, they turned on the Empire, they’re willing to work for Voltron--but what’s their bigger picture? Who do they see replacing Zarkon, and how do they see Voltron?”

“They’ve been fighting the Voice for so long,” Keith said quietly, “I’m not sure even they know. Five hundred years waiting. One hundred to find out about the shard. Another four hundred to study it and capture it. At least, that’s if I’m understanding Ulaz’s timeline right. I do wonder what they did in the meantime while they waited, but I think the Blades are so intent on Zarkon and the Outsiders, Gal’s internal politics have fallen to the side.”

“They probably did more spywork,” Shiro said. “But there was time to think of a life after Zarkon. I’ve heard you mention the Clarion--what were they like?” Keith flinched. He tried not to, but the name was like an iron against skin. “Keith--”

“No,” he said. “You should know.” He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “They’re going to be our enemies anyway, even if we take out Zarkon. They were extremists about the Voice. They believed that Zarkon was keeping her away from showing her entire ‘glory’ or something. They wanted to commune with her directly. She’d have killed them if they’d done that, though. Drained them dry. But that wasn’t something Zarkon could tell them, so they just terrorized Gal and its colonies.”

“You met them.”

He grimaced. “I did. They’d infiltrated Central Command, and planned on assassinating Zarkon.” He realized seconds later what he’d confessed to. He’d saved Zarkon. He jerked his head up to look at Shiro.

Shiro’s expression was calm, frighteningly so. “I’m not mad, Keith.””

“I--” He swallowed. His mouth was dry. “You won’t tell the others.”

“I won’t tell them a thing.”

He nodded to himself slowly. “I know how wrong it sounds. But he said that, if I found the Clarion agent, he’d give me Pidge’s family.” Shiro breathed in sharply. “He owes them to me now. That’s why I’ve been saying that to people. I thought--at the time, I thought that if I didn’t find the Clarion, it’d be worse than if Zarkon was in charge.” And that his friends would die. 

“It was a decision I don’t envy you having to make.”

That was a recurring theme. “Yeah,” was all he managed. “Anyway, we don’t want to meet the Clarion. It’ll give us multiple fronts to fight on.”

Shiro frowned to himself. “What will they think about the Voice’s death?”

That question made Keith wince. “Nothing good. We were the enemy in the first place because Voltron is mostly human and Altean, but now the only Galra on the team murdered the Voice. They’ll be after us when they get the chance. That’s if the truth doesn’t come out before then.”

“Do you think Zarkon will tell them?”

“Not publicly, but the Clarion are embedded through the army. More people are going to find out about the Voice’s true nature, and I’m not sure Zarkon will be able to keep the information completely silent.”

Shiro shook his head before he sighed. “That’ll be a lot of chaos, then. Do you think Zarkon’s hold on the Empire can withstand the information getting out?”

“... Maybe.” He hated that answer. He wished he could be more certain. “Zarkon has had ten thousand years to build that hold. There are even propaganda departments. They lionize him: there are people who want him to fall, but the general populace seems enraptured with him.”

“So they won’t believe it, or will they justify it?”

Keith laughed softly. “Both? I think it’ll depend on how brainwashed they are. I know some will go right into denial, but I think the Blades are going to have a lot of recruitment opportunities in the future.”

Shiro reached out. Keith stared as Shiro’s hand brushed against his ears. Something electric went through him. “I think it’s good,” Shiro said, “that we’re going to the Blades. Hunk, Pidge, Allura, Lance--they’re used to being around only each other or surrounded by enemy Galra. But with the Blades, you’re going to be the norm.”

Keith hadn’t thought of it like that. His ears twitched as Shiro pulled back. “That wouldn’t be unwelcome,” Keith said, “but I don’t know how the others are going to react. The Blades aren’t going to apologize for being Galra.”  _ Not like me _ . “I think that’s going to be a problem.”

“It’s one we’ll deal with,” Shiro said. “For now, though, you need to rest up. Eat something. Maybe even try to relax.”

Keith bit back a laugh. “I’m not sure that’s possible--”

“--but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

In fairness, Keith did try. He slept for a few hours, went to the kitchen and raided Hunk’s cooked and baked foods, and wandered through the observatory rooms. There was something peaceful about the stars passing by, but the problem was that all he could think about was the Outsiders eating them one by one as they fell from view. 

He tried to pretend nothing was wrong. There wasn’t a point to crying or screaming or freaking out. He wasn’t a baby, and the last thing he wanted was for Shiro or Allura or anyone else to catch him panicking. Instead he tried to let the panic roll over him like an ocean’s waves. There were lulls, times to pause and breathe, and when the ocean calmed, he’d wade further out.

The base was part of a moon. The Blades had dug into its side, and the entrance opened only when it faced a planet of ice. Blessedly, that was every twelve doboshes. The rapid spin of the moon generated a strange gravity that was harnessed to fuel twenty thousand Blades. The number had bowled over all of them until Regris had pointed out, dryly, that there were forty billion Galra in the galaxy and the Blades had operated for centuries. 

There were, Regris said, entire families whose bloodlines traced to the Blades’ founding. People were born on the base and died on the base. Some never left, their jobs purely technological or in maintenance. Regris mentioned there was even a little dialect that children learned which had become a code for the Blades. Pidge expressed interest in learning, but the offer wasn’t received with more than lukewarm smiles. 

Regris used the dialect as he spoke to HQ. The Lions didn’t speak the language, so it came out incomprehensible--incomprehensible and lovely. Galran had a harsh, guttural sound, but it had the sonorous effect of Russian or languid French. It was the kind of language that someone could doze while listening to. But there were other bits: airy ones, chittering, almost clicking in places. The dialect was composed of a dozen languages, and he wondered if there were non-Galra in the Blades. The thought receded as they all piled into the Black Lion.

Regris and Ulaz were in a good mood. It seemed to unsettle the others, particularly Allura and Lance. They’d had their squabble about Galra and whether there was anything redeemable to the people and the solid decision was  _ maybe _ . Maybe wasn’t good enough to feel anything but apprehension at joyful Galra.

Black soared from the bay, down into black space, and then towards a single point on the moon. Shiro was at the controls, Keith at his side, while the others were in the back, waiting. Their goal was a single rock carved with a strange metal that turned up on the scanners as  _ interesting _ . Coran chattered about it--it was some sort of component to an exceptionally strong alloy, one that frequently needed to be synthesized due to its rarity.

When Black came close, the moon’s surface began to receded, revealing a dark interior shielded by glowing violet. “Right through,” Ulaz said. “They know we’re coming.”

The barrier seemed to sizzle over the metal. There was a whispering sound as darkness enveloped the Lion. Seconds passed before light flickered on--not just inside the Lion, but inside the tunnel they dove down. The strange dialect came over the comms; Regris laughed at whatever was said, his voice crackling and rough, a cross between a growl and purr. 

“It’s good,” Regris said. “They have rooms for all of you.”

Lance frowned. “We’re not staying.”

“Frequent travel from the surface earns too much attention.”

“Nobody’s around,” Hunk pointed out.

Regris tilted his head to the side. “To your eyes. The Empire has roaming satellites that scan each system. We’re out of the way from the main routes, but they do sometimes come by.”

The Castle was wrapped in a shield, as created by Pidge, Hunk, and Coran, but the Lions were less protected. Regris had a point--one hammered home as Ulaz spoke. “It’d be easier for meetings and planning if you stayed anyway.”

When the tunnel opened, it opened into a cavern bigger than many cities. Little sun-like globes hovered high above the city, giving off light like a summer sky. People hurried through the streets--spaces between fine white buildings and roaming trucks and bikes. Many, Keith noticed, did not wear any uniform. They were average citizens in the Blades’ own city-state. Some had never seen the world outside the cavern. What kind of horror would that be? Keith had gone slightly mad from his time on Central Command, and lost more sanity at the palace. Entire lives, entire family lines, trapped. They all must have adapted to it. Maybe there were social programs. Maybe there were further caverns connected further down. Many might be allowed to visit other planets supervised. 

Or maybe they had psychological and psychiatric services. Anything would be better than nothing. 

A wave of armoured Galra waited on tarmac. Ships and vehicles surrounded them; Keith thought he spotted weapons attached to the cars and trucks. He felt a bit uneasy, but there was no time to really think it over. Black landed against the concrete with the softness of a cat.

“Let us out first,” Regris said. Keith made to lean against Shiro’s chair, but Regris reached out and caught Keith by the cuff. “Come. The Leader will want to speak to you.”

Keith’s stomach twisted, but it struck him that there was something more important to worry about.  _ Rime _ . He hurried after the Blades; someone called out his name--Shiro?--but he called a quick  _ I’ll be back _ before he clattered through the room with the other Paladins and then down to the ramp to the tarmac. He heard someone follow him, but he didn’t care.

Regris stopped at the ramp’s bottom and peeled off the mask. He breathed in the air with a giant sigh. His face was stubby and broad, with wide slits for a nose. A pair of pastel purple eyes turned to examine keith. A wide grin spread over Regris’ face before he motioned to the cavern.

“This is Yafva City. You’ll never see anything else like it, Caith.”

For a moment, Keith paused.  _ Caith _ . It’d been less than a week since someone had called him that, but it felt more like an eternity. What did he say to the name? What did Regris mean by it? Keith forced a smile but said nothing in reply. Instead he hurried onward. His heart thundered in his chest. The welcoming group of Galra had stopped a distance away, but he saw what he wanted. One of the Galra to the Leader’s side held a carrier. Keith swore he heard snarls and hisses, but he hoped he didn’t. The last thing he wanted was for Rime to misbehave--

It  _ was _ snarling and spitting. Resignation made him sigh, even as he strode onward. The Galra who held the cage hurried past the group and stuck out the cage like it contained something radioactive. Keith scooped it into his arms. A word came to his lips, so routine it almost made him laugh.

“ _ Behave _ ,” he hissed at Rime. The snarling and spitting stopped for a moment before it released a long, low rumbling purr. Keith crouched to the ground and opened the cage door. A writhing white tube of hatred burst out. He expected it to run and glide around, enjoying its freedom, but it bolted into his lap and climbed up his armour. It didn’t bite him on the face or neck: it buried its snout into the crook of his neck and released a heaving sigh. 

“You brat,” he said. A tongue darted out and brushed against his fur. He pulled Rime away from his neck. Standing, he heard others clatter down the ramp. He ignored them in favour of adjusting Rime in his arms. The dendin didn’t seem pleased to once again be cradled, but it’d become used to it and squirmed and wriggled until it became comfortable. 

The Leader and the others were only feet away. The Leader wore a mask, but Keith remembered his features from their last talk. “You look in good health,” the Leader said.

Keith ran his fingers through Rime’s feathers. The resulting purr comforted him. “Things went… well.” Someone called out his human name. He forced himself to turn and look at them. Everyone had left the Black Lion. Most of them looked dazed at the cavern’s size--or leery of the Galra arrayed around them. Only Shiro came forward to join Keith.

Shiro glanced at Rime before offering a hand to the Leader. “Thank you,” Shiro said, voice confident and strong, “for helping Keith.”

The Leader looked at the hand, considered it, and then took it. “We should be thanking Keith. Without him, our operations would have been delayed for many more years.” When he released Shiro’s hand, it was to turn his gaze on the rest of Voltron. “Paladins, Princess--you are welcome in Yafva.”

It was a quiet invitation to come closer. Coran was the one who took it first, despite not being named. A wide grin situated itself on his face as he too offered a hand to the Leader. “A pleasure, Mr.--?”

“Leader,” the Leader said calmly.

Coran kept grinning. “Mr. Leader. I am Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe! Lead engineer of the Castle of Lions, servant of the Royal House of Altea, member of House--”

“Thank you, Coran,” Allura said. She strode across the tarmac, her head held high even as her eyes darted from Galra to Galra. Those without masks looked faintly overwhelmed by Coran, who didn’t seem to mind the interruption at all: he’d released the Leader’s hand and went to Allura’s side. He looked at Allura with glowing pride. “Leader, I want to thank you for your efforts against Zarkon and his forces. I know it could not have been easy.” 

The stiltedness of her words was audible, but when Coran put a hand to her shoulder, the tension seemed to drain and her words softened. “... It’s good to have allies in this.”

The Leader’s expression was not visible, but there was something gentle to his voice as he spoke. “A dozen swords makes any duel easy. We admire your people’s long fight against Zarkon and his tyranny. I am only sorry we were not able to join your people sooner.”

Allura’s brow furrowed. “Sooner?” She looked into the Leader’s masked face, searching for something she couldn’t see. “I was told there are Alteans left. You’re working with them?”

“Since our founding,” the Leader said. “Your people have never gone quietly to their prisons. While their memories of what came before have faded, blood and salt have reigned. Zarkon destroyed your planet--but he has failed to destroy your civilization. You want to speak to them, do you not?”

“Yes.” It was agonized, breathless; Allura looked grey. “I can’t think of anything I want to do more.”

The Leader offered his hand. “There are a few in Yafva. The colony itself, Melsanae, travels throughout the universe. Zarkon believed that if he gave your people a chance to find a home that didn’t depend on Galran technology, your people would become a threat. But even metal and rock can become a home. Within a decade, your people were fighting again.”

“How many are left?”

“A million on Melsanae, and several thousand among the Blades.”

They left the tarmac. Allura kept to the Leader’s side, a barrage of questions leaving her lips. How long had Alteans been part of the Blades? What language did they speak? Who ruled the Alteans--had a noble house survived and taken the throne? The latter was spoken particularly hushed. She had to know the political consequences if her house had been replaced and she returned. The Leader’s response was simple:

There were no royals left. 

Strangely, Princess Allura of Altea’s shoulders relaxed. If he’d thought less of her, he might have assumed it was vanity: she could return to her people and become queen. But Keith thought it had more to do with stability. Who wanted to return to their people only to cause chaos? It occurred to Keith that her return would be fraught anyway. Some might want the royal family to return, while others would hold on to what they’d built. Keith wished he knew more about Alteans. What was their history with democracy? Had the royal family been wrapped up in religion, or was it purely secular?

Coran stood to Allura’s side. His expression was pleasant, if neutral; Keith knew he’d have to talk to the man later. Allura wouldn’t be forthcoming about internal Altean politics. Keith tried to take some comfort in the wary and confused looks of the other Paladins. Shiro came to his side, a bit more comfort as the Leader brought them into a squat building adjacent to the tarmac. It was dark, though not for a Galra or Altean. Shiro and the others squinted, while Allura and Coran’s pupils turned vaguely slit. 

“Who’s in here?” Lance demanded.

The Leader didn’t even look at him. “Ambassador, the princess has arrived.”

“Has she?” asked a sanguine and familiar voice. The hall opened into a wide room. Everything was sterile metal, yet somehow Shayan looked immensely comfortable sprawled in a blocky chair. “And charming Caith! Two of my favourite people. Come, Princess Allura--I’ve only heard of you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Shayan is based on an OC from another original project of mine. :> I promise he won't dominate the story (we'll get only a little bit more of him), but it's fun to write him. For the next update:
> 
> LENGTH: 5k  
> PROJECTED UPDATE: December 27th
> 
> If you'd like to keep up with me, you can find me at @AJORinn on Twitter or the-wenzel.tumblr.com! I'm brewing up an original project that I'm publishing January 10th. Thank you all for being patient!


	16. Chapter 16

Keith stared at Shayan. It wasn’t a surprise that Shayan was working against Zarkon--he’d known that from Keyka--but the Blades? He tried to gather his thoughts. In his silence, Allura came to Shayan and curtseyed. 

“Ambassador,” Allura said grandly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Shayan had the manners not to remark on the quaver to her voice. He slipped off the chair and gave a sweeping bow. “I’ve been waiting for this, Princess.” He offered a hand to her. Allura took it and followed him as he walked towards the chairs. “Paladins, Blades--please, take a seat as well. We have much to discuss.”

None of the Blades sat. Lance, though, took a seat as close to Allura as possible while Coran stood behind her. Keith was on the other side of Shayan, Shiro at his back, while Pidge and Hunk were beside Lance. The only people who looked comfortable were Shayan, the Leader, and Allura.

Allura, who looked a bit dazed too. “I always hoped,” she said, “that there were Alteans left. A race of shapeshifters, spread throughout the universe? I didn’t believe we could all be gone, even if Zarkon hunted us. There had to be a few, even just a handful.”

“The early days of our new civilization are lost,” Shayan admitted. “But we do know Zarkon hunted us--the high-ranking ones, those with military power. He let farmers and shopkeepers live. My family would have been potters in your time.”

Allura still held his hand. Her grip tightened. “... So there’s no one left of my family.” She shook her head. “I’m not surprised, but you’ll have to forgive my grief.”

“Forgive? You have a right to grief, my lady. Melsanae has never stopped grieving.” He leaned in. “You’ll find Melsanae pleased at your return. Likewise for you, sir.” Shayan turned pale green eyes on Coran. “We have only legends left of Altea’s glory.”

He was too sweet. Too smooth. He was saying everything Allura wanted to hear. Keith knew he meant well, though--he’d been the one to try to help Keyka. Allura smiled at Shayan. “The Castle has records of it, and my memory belongs to all Alteans.”

“Your summery warmth is a delight.”

Allura flushed as Lance glowered. “You flatter me!”

“Only because you deserve it, my lady.” Shayan’s grin was shameless. “Your return has thrown Melsanae into chaos and the future of Alteans will be a struggle in the coming years, but I believe it is for the best.”

Why, though? Why was he happy at chaos? Nobody pressed at that. “I feared chaos,” Allura admitted. “What is Melsanae like?”

“Zarkon never allowed another monarchy to form. I think he believed that might unify us.” Shayan sighed. “We have the typical features of dysfunctional democracies. Some are collaborators to Zarkon’s Empire--we call them the Lionskins, if you’ll excuse the term, Caith, Blades. There are those loyal to the original ideals, a faction on Melsanae called the, ah, Vultures.”

“Vultures,” Lance said flatly.

Shayan winced. “It refers to our supposed obsession with what came before Zarkon. They believe we’re picking over a corpse after ten thousand years. We personally call ourselves simply loyalists. I say this so that all of you may understand the division on Melsanae.”

“What’s your role?” Shiro asked. “You have the title of Ambassador, but what does that mean for Melsanae?”

“We can only have a handful of Alteans off Melsanae at a time.”

“There are Altean Blades, though.” Hunk squinted at Shayan.

Shayan shrugged. “They’re fugitives. Only their ability to shapeshift keeps them from being caught and executed. Zarkon wished to contain any sort of infection we could spread, as though we were vermin. I think he feared us becoming a symbol. There are twenty diplomatic operatives, led by myself, and some Altean soldiers who work for the Empire. There are a hundred Alteans who are off Melsanae legally. The thousands the Blades have either fled on their own or were smuggled out.”

Allura leaned in. “Smuggled by who?” Shayan bared his snow-white teeth in a grin. Allura’s own eyes gleamed. “The Lionskins--how common are they?”

“A third of Melsanae, and unfortunately many of them make up those who can leave the colony. The military dominates the legal off-worlders, diplomats take a handful, and then the rest are corporate pawns and propagandists.” Shayan tsked. “There are some corporatists who side with freedom, if only because of the restrictions they face in where they can operate in the Empire, and there are a handful of soldiers who spy for us.”

“And who organizes this?” Coran asked. “Is it all run by you?”

Shayan shook his head. “I’m too young to have such power! I am only two hundred. No, there is a council that I will not name that guides this. I was chosen for several reasons--”

“Why?” Lance demanded.

Allura frowned. Shayan raised a single brow but kept smiling. “I was a good student of revolution. But I am here since Gal has erupted into chaos and the Voice has died, and I felt it important to meet with legends and myths of a golden age.”

“I don’t wish to make things worses for Melsanae,” Allura said, looking down, “but I do wish to see it someday.”

Shayan reached over to tilt her chin up. “Melsanae _ will _ welcome you, Princess Allura. We are afflicted by traitors, but when the universe is free, I will take you to the colony personally. We still have pieces of what you once knew--flowers, statues, books… I hope they bring you some comfort.”

He was too smooth. Keith’s eyes narrowed. “What is the state of Gal?” he asked. Everyone looked at him. “Shayan, you said it’s in chaos and I believe it. But what’s happened precisely? I know the Clarion should be furious.”

The Leader snorted. It was so uncharacteristic, Keith startled. “They’re furious--not just at you, but at Zarkon for letting you get so close to her. They don’t know what to do, though: attacking the Empire will only weaken their own position against us. They’re finding that they have to work with Zarkon if they want to survive.”

“That’s…” Keith grimaced. “That’s not good. Are they talking, or is the Clarion still trying to figure out the plan now? Because their purpose is gone.”

“It is,” the Leader said, “but they’re turning that confusion to anger quickly. Zarkon has shown no public interest in speaking to the Clarion, but I know he’s sent agents to negotiate with them. He can’t afford for the Clarion to start striking when he needs to shore up a collapsing society.”

Keith pursed his lips. “How’s that collapsing society reacting to her death?”

“Collapsing,” the Leader said dryly. “There’ve been riots in the colonies. A dozen temples have been ransacked as the public is convinced the Druids did something. When the Voice’s death was announced, Zarkon himself did it. Anyone else, and the situation would have got uglier.”

There was one thing he feared. “... And suicides?”

Shiro’s hand landed on his shoulder. No one rushed to answer. The Leader spoke slowly, carefully. “There have been isolated cases.”

Keith closed his eyes and tried to ignore his heart clenching. “How do you think any of them will react to the Outsiders coming?”

“Badly,” Regris said. A soft  _ oof _ echoed in the room. Whoever had nudged him said nothing. “... I’ve been watching Reedings, and I don’t think people are ready to face this kind of threat.”

“Unfortunately, Regris is correct.” The Leader sounded tired. “There is significant reason for concern that Zarkon’s control would waver under the news of the Outsiders.””

“Isn’t that a good thing, though?” Pidge asked. “We don’t want him in power.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Keith opened his eyes. The expressions on Lance and Hunk’s faces showed their agreement. If any of the Galra spoke, it might rouse suspicion. But the problem was clear: none of the former cadets understood galactic politics. They’d just been told the answers, never given the chance to learn and understand the world around them. They were still in the binary of good and evil. Zarkon was evil, so he needed to die. Thoughts of consequences didn’t come into it: killing or deposing Zarkon was good because Zarkon was bad. That the situation was complicated by external factors, that the cure for one disease might worsen another sickness, didn’t compute. The cadets were sheltered, and they needed to be disabused of that naïveté.

So Keith spoke. “The problem is that we don’t want chaos right now.” Lance frowned at him while Pidge raised an eyebrow. “I know it seems counterintuitive, but if the Empire falls apart, the Clarion might come into power and they’re likely to side with another Outsider. And even if they don’t, that’s billions of people who aren’t going to be ready to defend themselves.”

Lance stared at him. “You’re saying we’ll need the Galra.”

“The Empire,” Keith reminded him. “There are Galra who’ve been fighting this war long before either of us were born. But I’m not saying we should try to parley with Zaron--I’m saying that, if there’s a battle between us and the Outsiders, I wouldn’t complain if the Empire turned up to fight too.” Keith shook his head. “I don’t know if Zarkon would try to get another Outsider, though. He could explain it as resurrecting the Voice or something, but it’d just bring him back to being vulnerable to the Blades again. And I don’t know if an Outsider would bother with the deal: it’s obvious that we’re weakened prey now.”

The Leader nodded. “That’s what our agents have found in meetings with the Emperor. While others have encouraged him to speak to another Outsider, he’s told them that it isn’t possible. His reasoning is similar to yours, but he also says that he couldn’t speak to the other Outsiders.”

“Why?” Allura asked. “I suspect you don’t know, but you’ll have to forgive me for asking.”

“No forgiveness needed, Princess Allura. We believe that there was something special to the circumstances that brought us the Voice.”

Keith rubbed at his temples. “There might have been a situation with quintessence. To speak with the Voice, you need to be able to use quintessence. That’s easier if you’re a Paladin, but I think he’d have needed Black’s help--and she wouldn’t have given it to him.”

“So how would he have done it?’ Lance asked. “Unless he’s a Druid?”

Keith shook his head. “I’d know if he was. The Blades would too. I think--I think she reached out to  _ him _ . I don’t know why, but she latched on to people.”

“Latched on?”

God, he didn’t want to talk about it, but-- “She was obsessed with my mother.” The ensuing awkward silence didn’t make him feel better. “They had an odd bond, and the Voice transferred it to me.” He shrugged and looked down at his hands. “That’s why I was able to get so close. I’m not saying she was human or Galran, but she could recognize procreation and consanguinity.”

Shayan let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot to handle.”

Kindness didn’t make them friends. “It was better than having nothing. She’s dead now.” Both his mother and the Voice. “What matters is that we know the Outsiders can reach out and talk to people.”

“And if Zarkon believes he cannot negotiate a new deal,” the Leader said, “that means he has to fight with us.”

Allura didn’t look pleased but said nothing. Shayan spoke instead. His hands were entwined in Allura’s, and Keith suspected his words were to comfort her. “Not ideal, but you think he’ll be willing to work with rebels?”

“I don’t think he has much of a choice,” Keith said. “Do or die. If he doesn’t help, he’ll die with the rest of us.” He paused. “But I think he’ll have to talk himself into it. He wasn’t angry when he spoke to me--”

“Spoke to you?” Lance said, eyes narrowed.

Keith tried not to roll his eyes. “He broadcast to me as I left Gal. He was calm, if disappointed.” Rime squirmed in his arms, raising its head to peer out at those in the room. It’d never seen the Paladins before, though it might remember Shayan. He ran his clawed fingers through its feathers. It rattled with a purr. “Do we have any idea of movements around the edge?”

The Leader gave a stiff nod as he moved to a projection sheet. Regris and another Galra went to a terminal. “As you may know, there have been vessels every few decaphoebs going into the Dark. Recent events have sent many ships of the Armada to the barrier; as part of that, I’ve sent along one staffed by Blades.”

A ship appeared on the sheet. It was a standard Galran vessel: red and purple, sharp and blocky. “Its name is the Diyor. On paper, it belongs to the Empire, but we’ve replaced its crew with Blades. I don’t believe there’s a single Imperial aboard.” The Leader sounded smug about that. “The orders from Central Command are to monitor the Dark. As has been recorded before, it is encroaching on the universe, but what is notable now is its speed. Rough estimates say that the speed has increased twenty fold. Worse, there are dark objects floating in from the black.”

The projector image changed to a grainy picture of a cloud of blackness framed in front of a distant star. “They’ve only been fragments so far--the size of personal ships. But if history is anything to go by, the Outsiders will grow larger and larger, and the Armada will lose its ability to contain them.”

“How long until they no longer can?” Shayan asked. “I’ve been trying to get approval to change Melsanae’s course from the outer reaches, but I’ve yet to get any progress on that. If we need to make an… independent decision, it’s best that I start organizing it now.”

“I would make that decision immediately,” the Leader said. Shayan grimaced. “They’re already struggling. Anything larger than your Green Lion will be disastrous.”

Fuck. Keith had known things would explode and fall apart and shatter and all those horrible, horrible words, but it was another thing to face it. “There aren’t enough ships to patrol the entire ‘Dark’, is there? Which means things are already getting in.”

The Leader watched him for a moment. “The Empire has estimates on that. There are at least a thousand smaller Outsiders already in the light of the universe.”

Shayan looked a bit grey. “Excuse me, I need to contact Melsanae--” He stood, though he kept his body bowed and held on to Allura’s hands. “My apologies, Princess. I am unlikely to leave in the next few vargas, so if you wish to speak more, simply ask for a guard to lead you to me.” He pressed a dry, light kiss to her knuckles, managed a smile, and then hurried from the room.

Lance looked like he was going to explode. Keith decided not to be sympathetic. He didn’t trust Shayan, but that wasn’t what bothered Lance. What was more notable was Allura’s comfort. She looked more relaxed, and Keith knew she’d speak to Shayan in private. That wasn’t a good thing, but it was better than Allura bottling up her concerns. 

The Leader continued as if nothing had happened. “I’ve thought of sending in our own vessels to scout the Dark, but history says there’s little to be gained in it but death.”

“The Zera was able to find a way to kill them,” Pidge said.

The Leader’s gaze was focused on the projected ship. “They found a secret that the living couldn’t decode, Paladin. If I send Blades into the Dark, there is an overwhelming chance that they will die and that any knowledge they gain will be lost. Galran technology is able to reach into the Dark for a day’s travel. Those scant transmissions and debris floating in from the Dark consumed Imperial scientists’ lives for millennia.”

Keith frowned. “Blades were watching for centuries, right?”

“We have plants at these facilities. We’d hoped that the Empire would have knowledge we didn’t, but that proved folly until five years ago. The overwhelming consensus among the scientists was that nine of every ten vessels was destroyed in hours. The few that made it further were gone before they lost contact with the Empire--and the handful that made it further never came back until the Zera.”

So going into the Dark wasn’t a good idea. Who knew how the Lions would fare? They were different from other machines, but wouldn’t have the other Paladins tried at one point or another, if only to slip in to see what the Dark truly looked like?

“What transmissions do we have?” he asked. “Did any of them broadcast during an attack?”

The Leader turned to Regris who looked up from the computer terminal. “Most of it’s garbled,” he said. “Some are panicking. Others are almost… no longer themselves. The few I’ve heard that make any sense have no clue what’s happening. They just know that even the lights on the ship have vanished. Most of these transmissions last a minute or less.”

“I want to hear them.” Keith’s voice was firm, but inwardly he was terrified. “I might notice something that the scientists haven’t. I’ve spoken to the Voice and I’ve been in quintessence before.”

“Been in?” the Leader echoed. 

Keith felt the raised brow. “The Voice was surrounded by… ‘metaphysical’ channels. Like a series of raging rivers that led to a stormy ocean. She’d speak to me in them.”

“If we put you close to the Dark,” the Leader asked, “could you survey the ‘channels’ of it? I suspect it’d be empty, but it might give us insight into the nature of the Outsiders. They feast on life, but I question if life would surrender so easily.”

“Or,” Allura said, “that the Outsiders would be able to process so much quintessence without waste.” Hunk grimaced, but Allura didn’t see. “There may be detritus from the consumed quintessence, almost like discarded hulls or shells, and we don’t know how it converts to fuel the Outsiders. Before Zarkon’s betrayal, we did send some alchemists to investigate the Outsiders, but they were never able to immerse themselves in those channels.” She looked at Keith. “You’d have an easier time of it. You’ve been surrounded by the Voice for so long, and you know what their powers feel like. Our alchemists only managed to chart how fast an Outsider eats quintessence.”

“Important information,” Ulaz said. “Coran, could you transmit it to us before you leave?”

Coran smoothed his moustache. “I certainly can! I can give you everything we discovered too. Allies share, after all!”

Allura smiled, though it was slightly crooked. “We certainly do. Keith, we could work together in the examination. I was trained in some alchemy on Altea, though I’m far from an expert.” Her eyes brightened. “Would any of the Alteans be able to help?”

“Such arts are lost,” the Leader said gently. “Zarkon banned any quintessence manipulation that didn’t come from Druids. He knew well that your people’s power would be something to reckon with. Shayan would know the details better, but I suspect you’re the best trained Altean alchemist in the universe.”

To say Allura looked horrified put it mildly. She opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out. Her jaw snapped closed. An entire art lost. It was hard to comprehend. It was like if the art of singing or dancing vanishing from Earth--a loss of something fundamental, beloved, specialized.

Keith wanted to reach out, but he knew better. “It can be relearned,” he said. “There’ll be the reckoning Zarkon feared afterward.” He looked back to the spy ship. “We’ll need an opening in the patrol line to investigate the Dark’s edge.”

Allura said nothing as the Leader spoke. “... We can disrupt the line further up and delay the moving patrol. It will give you a few vargas to explore the edge. I don’t know how to advise you on taking the Lions in. What I can say is that you should not go further in than what you can see. Further in, and you’ll be unable to spot the Outsiders coming.”

It was like swimming with rabid sharks. The swimmer wouldn’t know where they’d come from, while the swimmer moved blind in the dark, and there’d be God knew how many sharks. But what was the Dark really like? He had a mental image of it, but that wasn’t necessarily accurate. When he asked the Leader the reply was simple:

We’ll show you some pictures before the mission happens.

It felt like a bit of a manipulation. The Leader wanted them to agree and sign on before they even knew what they were doing. Maybe he was aware that, if those like Hunk or Lance saw the Dark, they’d have a lot more questions and concerns that couldn’t be answered or mollified. What he and Allura had right now were vague hypotheticals: the quintessence around the Dark  _ might _ be different. Outsiders  _ might _ give off some sort of waste or refuse or leave something behind in the sudden void of life which could disturb the flows of quintessence, like rocks thrown into a river or a dam. 

The meeting broke apart soon afterward. Each of them were shown to rooms. Yafva was split between stone buildings and tents. There was some metal, but that wasn’t a traditional Galran material. Keith suspected it was because of the heat they were used to. He didn’t inquire about it as they were brought to bedrooms. The beds were round and soft, there was a jug of water that wasn’t Mahadra on the nearby table, and there was an open window that he could peer out through and see Yafva’s life. The city was quiet like Vrikka.  It had a more hurried pace, though. Everyone seemed to have places to be. They rushed through the streets at almost-jogs. The only people who sat about were the children and whatever guardian was watching them. There seemed to be a dozen to every guardian, and by some of the appearances of the children and guardians, they weren’t blood related. It was a sense of communalism that he thought the Imperial Galra had lost. 

Desert life required bonds to survive. Everyone became family, or at least part of the clan. The movement to larger cities had frayed the bonds, and the sudden re-centering of life on to the military and Zarkon had done the rest. That was Keith’s guess, at least. It drew on a mixture of what he knew about the Galra, desert life, and the current state of the Empire. For all he knew, he was wrong.

He sat on the bed and drank some of the water. It helped dull his growing headache. He didn’t think they’d be in Yafva long enough to justify the rooms, but it was good to be there. People surrounded him on the streets and adjacent rooms, but he could sit in his bed and enjoy the quiet. In an hour or two, someone would come to his door and he’d have to re-enter the world, but for now, he could breathe--

Someone knocked on the door. Keith’s eyes drifted closed and he swallowed a sigh as the person called out. “Keith?” Shiro asked. 

Shiro was an acceptable interruption. Keith rose from the bed and opened the door before retreating back on to the circular, veiled bed. He tried not to curl up on it and stare at Shiro. It was too Galran and petty.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

Shiro blinked at him. “Already expecting things to have gone wrong?” Keith’s lips twisted as he shrugged. Shiro didn’t look offended, at least. “You’re unhappy about something, and I’m guessing it’s the Dark.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“But am I completely right?”

“No,” Keith admitted. He hesitated before he continued. “A lot of this feels questionable.”

Shiro came close, to the edge of the bed. “I know,” he said. “Black was talking to me as the Blades’ leader was. She’s not happy that we might be going to the edge of the Dark.”

“Has she ever been close?”

“She has.” Keith edged to the side, leaving a spot for Shiro to sit, and he took it. “Not far in, but she’s been a half hour into the blackness. She describes it as oily and cold. The Black Lion was almost destroyed before she got out, just by how the Dark ate at its power.”

Keith swallowed. “And other Paladins--did they go too?”

“A handful, though never as far as Diatha. She wouldn’t let them go for more than a few minutes.”

Was that fear or wisdom? If the Leader was right, there was something to be gained by investigating the Dark. On the other hand, the other Paladins before their time might not have had an alchemist on hand. But why hadn’t Altea, a land of alchemists, gathered more information than how the Outsiders ate? The only people who’d know that was Allura and Coran. He’d have to ask her while they went to the Dark.

“I think Red will let me get close.” She hadn’t said anything otherwise, though he felt her prowling around in the back of his brain. As though in response to his words, she seemed to brush against him.

Shiro sighed. “Diatha might let me follow if you go. We can’t afford to separate around the Dark.”

“Has she shown you what she saw?”

Shiro shook his head. “She’s been quiet about that. I don’t know if she doesn’t want to remember or if it’s something else. I haven’t said anything to Allura.”

“She probably has an idea of what it looks like.” Shiro’s brows rose. “I was thinking that, well. The Alteans had alchemists investigating the Outsiders, and Allura is a royal. They have to have more than just a bit of math about Outsiders eating. Alteans are one of the oldest races in the universe. Why didn’t any of them investigate the Dark like the Leader proposed? Did something go wrong? If nothing else, she must have been shown pictures of the Dark as the princess of Altea. I don’t know how to ask her, though. It could just make her angry or annoyed.”

“Possibly,” Shiro said, “but it’s a good point. An important one. The Blades have to know the reason as well since they didn’t ask Allura about that history. Someone like the Leader or Ulaz should know.”

Keith was torn between simple gratitude and soppy, maudlin appreciation that someone was still listening and talking to him about his concerns. Shiro didn’t call Keith paranoid, like he’d feared people would. Even better, Shiro could analyze the situation in a way Keith had become familiar with and accustomed to. It wasn’t a good thing, the saner part of him noted. It  _ was _ paranoid. But then they were at war with billions who wanted them dead, living with spies and assassins while fighting a threat beyond understanding. He thought if there was a time for paranoia, now was the time. 

So who did he go to? Allura was likely with Shayan and an iffy choice in the first place, and the Leader at meetings. Ulaz could be anywhere. He sat with Shiro for a little longer. Their conversation drifted like a leaf in a river. He didn’t think it navel-gazing, but it was a quiet talk, gentle, with long, comfortable pauses.

The questions were almost nonsense. What was the Galran quarter of the Castle like? Keith promised to show him. What had happened when Keith was prisoner? Shiro said Lance had tried his best to fill Keith’s shoes, that they’d floated throughout the universe searching for intel and allies, and they’d caught glimpses of Keith on, of all things, Reedings. 

Facebook for aliens. Keith still hadn’t come to terms with it. “Did you see any, uh, comments on those posts?”

“They went viral twice,” Shiro said, his eyes glinting. “They didn’t understand your skin.”

Keith laughed softly. “They would now.” Shiro’s expression turned a bit troubled, and he regretted the comment instantly. “I guess they have some idea what the Paladins look like now. What was the reaction to the political part of it?”

“... There were a few insults, but many wanted to know things about you. How old you were, what Earth’s like, what your favourite foods were and most importantly what you thought of the Galra.” Shiro smirked. “A few people tried to pass themselves off as you, you know.”

“They tried to catfish with me?”

“Not for dating, but on news articles and social media. There was even a parody account.”

“Was it teasing or--?”

“It portrayed you as very, very confused.” Keith couldn’t resist a grin. “It even got into social commentary by the end.”

“The end?”

“People lost interest.”

That roused a full-body laugh. “That’s very  _ human _ .” He unfurled from the bed. Shiro edged away, letting stray limbs stretch out. “I should go find the Leader or Ulaz before we leave. Just so we’re prepared for the Dark.” And to deal with the chips in his eyes. He hesitated. “Do you want to come? I know you’re probably busy.”

“I need to talk to the Leader too.” Shiro stood and offered a hand for Keith to steady himself with as he climbed from the bed. “We can see Yafva while we search. It’d be interesting to see a Galran city that isn’t hostile territory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update is the 6th! In that chapter, we're going to touch on some old things from previous arcs. ;3a
> 
> PROJECTED LENGTH: 5k  
> PROJECTED UPDATE DATE: Jan 7 (postponed from the 6th)
> 
> (The chapter is finished and just needs to be edited, but I've caught something 8( Update will go up tomorrow when I'm less sick!)


	17. Chapter 17

The halls were stone and there was no glass. Someone hummed in a room nearby, occasionally bursting into song. Bristles scraped against stone. Pans and pots clattered together. “Ceci!” a child called out. “Ceci!”

The voices waned to whispers as they passed. The stairs down to the roads were long and wide. Keith hopped down them, a spring in his step. Sleepiness lingered on his skin. A yawn tried to burst out, but he pushed it down as Rime buried its snout in the crook of his arm.

“What’s ceci mean?” Shiro asked.

Keith scratched at his pointed ears. Something tickled at the base. “Aunt--I don’t know why it doesn’t translate.”

“Maybe it has meanings more than aunt.”

Keith frowned. “Maybe. Where should we start for the Leader?”

“He’s probably still by the tarmac.”

Or at least by the operation buildings. Keith carefully took the lead as they walked the streets. It wasn’t a large lead--just a single step ahead, letting the civilian Blades see a Galra Paladin instead of another strange alien. What did the wider Blades know about Voltron, Keith, and the Alteans? Wide eyes and more whispers, the shy kind, said what he suspected. Strangers were strangers, and the Blades had been isolated for centuries.

Keith gave a thin-lipped smile at them. A few of the children waved at them. Shiro laughed and waved back. One child fluffed up noticeably, pleased as could be at the acknowledgement. A swat from a friend sent their tail back down. 

Creatures cried out high above among the sun-globes. Nobody reacted to the darting shadows, too big to be like bats, with galloping bodies that flew over the shadowy parts of the ceiling. Horns honked in the distance, punctuating drum-heavy reed music. Life was quiet and slow in Yafva, as though the world outside had been paused.

The air was cool to him, but sweat beaded on Shiro’s forehead. Condensation clung to the sides of buildings. In the open windows, he spied Galra brushing their fur, digging deep to root out any mold. It wasn’t a friendly environment. What Keith noticed was that the Blades, as a whole, seemed to have less bushy fur than the average Galra he’d seen in Vrikka. Had the Blades recruited among certain ethnicities, or was it a small adaptation to their subterranean habitat?

They found the Leader in a building opposite the tarmac. It was a rounded one, like its corners had been sanded away. It had a single door of metal to it. Keith frowned at the pale grey stone. Rounded, circular tops would better hold weight--but there was no weight to hold, and the square was the typical shape among the Galra. Except, he realized, that the building wasn’t meant for decoration or typical use. It was a bunker. If the Empire attacked, they’d collapse the miles of stone above Yafva. It’d crush the citizens and ships, but it’d struggle to destroy the bunker. 

How many people could it hold? Maybe a few hundred if there were no floors below it, but there had to be more. Yafva held twenty thousand. There had to be contingencies for those thousands. He repeated that to himself again and again as they walked toward the guarded door. The Blades were not like the Empire. The Empire was willing to sacrifice its soldiers as was convenient. Hyladra had been encouraged to throw herself to the wolves by bonding with Keith. Wrin was long gone, discarded for having made a mistake.

“Paladins,” the guard said when they stopped in front of the pair. “Who are you here for?”

Shiro glanced at Keith before he spoke. “The Leader. We have questions for him.”

“He has no time for that.”

“He will,” Keith said, “when you mention a treatment that he promised me.” Shiro’s brows rose. It occurred to Keith that he’d never told the others about his eyes. It’d seemed unimportant--just another misfortune that could be fixed quietly and quickly. They didn’t need to know about losing his sight, having his eyes regrown, or having chips placed in his sockets. 

Qore had gouged his eyes out. The only good thing was that he hadn’t been conscious for it. He remembered Zarkon coming to him in his world of shadow, saying that Ravus had been on Central Command with the remaining Clarion.  What had happened to him? Ravus had been a sulking, nasty piece of shit, but he’d also been influential. Had Zarkon captured him and sent him elsewhere, or had he escaped? There was so much unanswered. He knew only fiction gave all the answers, but it was all too easy of an out. Maybe the Leader would know.

The guards let them enter after a grudging stare down. A runner had been sent ahead to the many-floors-down meeting room. An attendant ushered them along. The building had halls and rows, all steel sheets. Pillars were placed throughout, propping up the domed roof. 

The meeting room was five floors down, right above a reinforced cavern for civilians to flee to. There was a large elevator, rickety and rusted from the damp but functional. The attendant’s ears flattened when she caught them looking at the rusted cables.

“It’s perfectly fine,” she told them. “Appearances are hard to maintain, but it is in working order. Stand in the middle and you’ll be fine.”

That didn’t particularly reassure Keith, but he said nothing and Shiro mustered a smile for the flustered woman. The elevator rattled down the five floors. Metal doors sealed off each from the elevator’s view, though elsewise it was like a mine shaft elevator. Rime stirred at the clinking metal, but a stroke along the spine sent it back to sleep.

Shiro shifted his weight from foot to foot. Keith knew he wanted to ask something, probably about the ‘treatment’, but the attendant was stopping him. Keith wished he’d never mentioned it, but what had happened had happened. For all he knew, the Blades would need time of their own to regrow his eyes. It’d make the third pair he’d ever had. Hopefully it wouldn’t delay things, though. If it did, he’d need to explain to the others what had happened. A cowardly part of him begged for him to get Shiro to explain it to the others. The others would still give Keith frightened or unnerved looks for the next few days, but he wouldn’t have to face that initial wave of incredulity.

The attendant led them to the only door in the hall from the elevator. She knocked twice. The door opened. A masked Blade, larger than even Shiro, stood in the opening, their tail swishing around their legs. It was long and thick, but tapered before turning to a lion’s tuft.

“Antok,” the Leader said, “bring them in.”

Antok stood to the side. The mask hid his expression, but Keith felt his eyes picking them apart. There were six Blades in the room--Regris, Ulaz, Antok, the Leader, and two women who leaned over a projected diagram of a system. A system, he thought, that was edged to the far right by pure darkness.

“I hope we’re not interrupting,” Shiro offered.

The Leader shook his head. “We needed your input.” He walked to the map and lifted a claw-tipped finger to point at a series of firefly-like lights floating along the Dark’s edge. “Shisa, bring up the images.” 

One of the women pressed a series of buttons on the projection. Keith’s heart clenched at what the light revealed. Half the screen was still light--but the rest was in an ink-blackness. The black projection flickered, creating the effect that it writhed. Keith forced himself to approach it. This was what he needed to see. If he didn’t approach it now, how did he expect to traverse it?

Closer up, he saw how the Dark slowly ate at the universe. It didn’t inch along: it was barely perceptible on the projection, but it wasn’t to scale. What were millimeters on the projection were hundreds of miles to scale. He stared down at the cloudy Dark.

“There are images of its insides?” he asked.

The Leader came to his right, and looked between Keith and Shiro. “There are. Some are from the Empire’s investigations, but a few were Blades who felt they could discover something and disobeyed the rules.” He stiffly reached out and tapped at more buttons. The project didn’t leave, but its top morphed into a slideshow of pictures. One was from a small ship. It was a 3D photo: cameras all along the ship’s sides had snapped the picture at the same time. 

It was like all the stars had died. It was like the ship was at the bottom of the ocean. Its lights struggled to illuminate anything beyond a foot away. The air was open in the greyish slivers of video, but in that slim area were small, questing tendrils of the Dark. 

“The next is a video,” the Leader said. The vision of a barely-lit abyss left. The voices that came over were Empire-cold. There was only blackness for film.

“Lera, time.”

“Two doboshes.”

“... Double check that, Lieutenant.”

“I already have, sir. It’s been two doboshes.”

“Get me the Research Cadre--”

The ship rumbled. The screen remained black. A sickly feeling came over Keith. It couldn’t be what he thought. People started to shout--systems were failing, metal was collapsing, the power was out--and the captain gave one last call: send a broadcast. Then the recording went out.

Keith’s hands were fists. “They were attacked by an Outsider?” Shiro asked. “And time moves differently in the Dark.”

Keith shook his head. “Close,” he said. “Leader--the Outsider already had them, didn’t it.” The Leader looked at him and said nothing. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. “They were inside it. It was eating them, which is why even the inside of the ship was dark. They were lost, weren’t they? They knew they were in the Dark, but they didn’t realize what had happened. Even time was breaking down. They’d been in there for vargas, if not quintents, but the systems knew it’d only been doboshes outside of the Outsider.”

The Leader cocked his head to the side. “... Yes. It’s the only recording we have of what happens to an Outsider’s prey. The rest of the recording is silence. It lasts an entire quintent. We believe that it took decaphoebs for the entire ship to be eaten.”

Shiro took a sharp breath. “And the people inside?”

“Are unlikely to have died first.”

“It’s space, though,” Keith said. “They’d have died in the vacuum.”

“Not if an Outsider is unlike the void.”

Keith frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s a Jonah and the whale situation,” Shiro said. “Leader, you’re saying that Outsiders aren’t just energy, aren’t you? That the environment inside an Outsider is its own environment.”

“That is what we suspect, yes.” The Leader closed the video. “During our forebears’ times as guards of the Voice, they saw Galra touch the Voice--High Priests and Priestesses were expect to anoint themselves with her waters and touch divinity. The Outsiders are energy, but they warp reality around themselves; they gain a physical form unlike that of flesh. The ship was inside its stomach. When the ship collapsed, they fell into a strange abyss. Their bodies and spirits would fall apart as the Outsider continued searching for more quintessence to eat.”

“For decaphoebs.” Shiro looked grey.

“By our projections, yes.”

Which was bullshit. The Blades had nothing to go on--except they might. They didn’t know other Outsiders, but they knew the Voice. They knew how fast she ate quintessence from their time caring for her and charting the rate at which she drained Voice-touched Galra. They’d been working on this for centuries. There was no way to reassure himself that they were absolutely, completely, utterly wrong.

Keith tried to loosen his grip on Rime, but terror had frozen them in place. He could die a prolonged death of years as he was slowly digested by an Outsider. One mistake, and the Red Lion would go with him, leaving them unable to form Voltron. Worse: what if another Paladin fucked up? What if Lance got too cocky, Hunk became too scared, or Pidge thought she knew the exact solution to fix an exact problem and managed to break everything?

“Is this why the Alteans never went in?” Shiro asked.

The Leader examined him now. Whether Shiro was found wanting, who knew? “Partly. I was able to speak to your engineer Coran about what information he and the Castle might have. During quiet times, when there were no invasions, Altean alchemists went to the Dark. Most kept to the edges, but there were a few expeditions in. Like the Empire, most died. Those who came back went in for only short times.”

“And the quintessence flows?”

The Leader shrugged, of all things. “Many alchemists were busy trying to save planets from corruption. Of those who could go to the Dark, many were inexperienced. Worse, Altean alchemy worked to redirect life. A blessing in good times, but difficult to work with around the Dark. Many found themselves unable to read the flows, and the few that could struggled not to be devoured by the emptiness for even glimpses. One of the reasons Princess Allura’s line was so small was because they lost branches to night sickness.”

Night. It was too dark for even night. At least in night, the sun rose eventually. Keith rubbed his temples. “So you’re saying that me and Allura might go insane.”

“Unlikely,” the Leader said. “We are preparing you for this. Many of the Altean alchemists were sheltered from the worst of the Outsiders--and of violence in general. They were wealthy nobility who were highly educated. The idea of misery rivalled the Outsiders in incomprehensibility. You and Allura--you know suffering. You know what the Outsiders are. Allura will be shown the same materials as you, and you’ll know of the night sickness.”

It’d been ten thousand years from Voltron’s founding to Zarkon’s rise. No Altean alchemist had found anything of use. “That can’t explain everything.”

“Likely not. We are looking at two sources of records: fragments we Blades have scavenged from the Empire, and the information given to a war machine and servant to a dynasty. Coran knows little about alchemy. Allura was never trained. Maybe Zarkon would know, but we can’t ask.”

So many alchemists couldn’t read the Dark, and those that could tended to die from ‘night sickness’, which sounded like a combination of insanity and taking on the infection the Outsiders spread to planets. “There’s no record of a single person?” He was aware he was being annoying, but the video had struck something in him. Terror insisted on throttling his heart.

“Zarkon may have deleted such information.”

That wasn’t Zarkon. Zarkon would preserve the knowledge, even if he wasn’t going to use it. “Possible,” Keith forced out, even though the words were acid on his tongue. “We’ll see what me and Allura find. She’ll hopefully have better thoughts than me about what you have.” He shook his head. “But I came for my eyes too.”

Shiro frowned but said nothing. The Leader looked him over once and nodded. “It will take vargas for them to develop in our labs, but the transplant procedure should be quick--”

“Transplant?” Shiro asked, voice faint. “HIs  _ eyes _ ? Keith--?” His hand reached out but he hesitated at the last moment.

How should Keith phrase it? He couldn’t think of a way to soften the situation, so he dove in. “Someone gouged out my eyes on Central Command,” Keith said, “and Zarkon grew replacements. But, uh, he put chips in my sockets before then.” He reached into a pocket on his suit and pulled out a dime-sized device as he juggled Rime. “It’s been scrambling his attempts to track me. The Blades said they’d help take out the chips.”

Shiro stared at him. “Keith…” Keith shrugged and Shiro shook his head. “Thank you, Leader, for doing this. But I’m going to need an explanation for what’s happened, Keith.”

“We can talk while they grow the eyes,” Keith reasoned. The Leader grunted. It took Keith a moment to realize it was the man holding back laughter poorly. Keith glanced over at him. “You’re going to need to give us a name at some point, you know.”

The Leader straightened and cleared his throat. “I suppose if I’m growing you eyes, you can have it. I am Kolivan. Share that with the other Paladins as you see fit.”

Kolivan. It was better than ‘the Leader’, and it was a sign that the Blades were accepting them as part of the coalition. Keith wasn’t sure if he’d trust someone like Lance with the name, though. Lance had a habit of talking without thinking, and it’d take a single mistake for Kolivan’s identity to slip. Keith hoped Kolivan had been able to take his family to Yafva, but there was no way to ask without prying.

The attendant brought them from the room, out of the domed building, and then to another building, squarish this time, several buildings down from the domed one. It was a medical centre, the attendant told them, and she led them to a small room.  

It was cold and sterile and boring. He sat on a metal chair with Rime while Shiro sat on a stool. He let his head fall back on to the cushioned rest. “I hate metal so much.”

“What do you mean?”

Keith let his eyes close. He’d have new ones soon. That thought sent his brain into a series of panicked thoughts. Eyes weren’t replaceable. “It reminds me of all the times I ended up in the medical ward on Central Command and the Garrison. It seems like no matter the culture, everyone has the same ideas for medical treatment.”

“It’s easier to keep metal and white clean.”

“They could at least put up a painting.”

“You’ve seen Galran art. Do you want some deformed face staring out at you from LSD colours?”

Keith frowned to himself. “Galran art isn’t bad.”

“It’s certainly unique.”

“It’s abstract expressionism, fauvism, and cubism. It’s a different take on Art Deco.”

“... Sometimes I forget you’re not just a numbskull like the rest of us.”

Keith laughed. “You may be a chest candy chaser, Shiro, but you’re not an idiot. That’d be our resident latrine queen, Lance.”

“And here I thought you might start to like each other.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever  _ like _ Lance. He’s too childish still.” He opened his eyes to examine Shiro. “He’s getting somewhere better, though. Maybe Hunk is a good influence.”

“Or,” Shiro said, “he does a bit better outside of the Garrison’s teaching plan of fear, sarcasm, and ridicule.”

“Possible.”

“You’re doing better outside it too.”

Keith turned to look at Shiro fully. “It wasn’t a bad place. Stressful and competitive, but I don’t--I don’t think I ever expected anything else.”

“It helps being at the top of the pile, though.”

“... I know.” He flopped back. Shiro was smiling, at least. “Lance probably went there the smartest kid in his school, if not city. Then he gets worse scores than half the incoming class and at the top’s this nobody.”

Shiro nodded. “I think it was a shock for everyone. The Garrison blood pool has next to no diversity. Everyone goes to the same competitions, schools, and parties. I’m not saying that none of them deserve their spot at the Garrison, but we forget that people outside of our circles can be just as good, if not better. You were your year’s reminder of that.”

“I guess. I feel like they don’t realize how I got in, though. I remember, in my first month, someone grilling me on tutors, symposiums, and presentations I had to have done.” Keith looked down at his furry hands cradling Rime and tried to ignore the dissonance it conjured in his brain. He was thinking of times when he was human--human and nothing else--but there his body was, changed after years in space. “I think if Lance and his buddies knew the recruiters were who picked me up, they’d pillory the pair.”

“I think it was Brad and Todd who found you.” Shiro leaned in, catching Keith’s gaze. It pulled Keith away from his deformed body. “Recruiters sometimes go to tracks if they’re finding it hard to meet quotas.” Shiro grimaced. “Most of the time, they think the people will sign on and forget about their interest, but you’re the second I know of who kept with the program and made something of it.”

“Who was the first?”

“She was around when I was going through the program. She was engineering--came from a little village in Somalia. From what she told me, the recruiters were passing through to take a plane to Surat and stopped in Mogadishu. She was visiting to take an exam, and they ran across her. They had car trouble, she needed a bit more cash, and it ended with them signing her on as interested.”

Keith couldn’t help but smile. “And now she’s an astronaut?”

“She’s helping design colonies for Mars.”

That warmed him. He wished he’d met her. Maybe if he’d spoken to her, he’d have felt a little less alone. He just hoped she’d had her own Shiro. “Good to know not all of us turn into aliens.”

“One time’s enough for everyone,” Shiro said, laughing. “At least you’re not some sort of tentacle or slime thing.”

Keith’s cattish nose wrinkled. “I don’t think I’d be a good space snail.”

“How do you know when you haven’t tried?”

Keith nudged him with an armoured foot. “I’d be careful, space jockey. We’ll find out  _ you’re _ the next alien at this rate.”

Shiro kept smiling. “I’d have a lot to ask my mother and father if that happened.”

“... I guess that comes with the ‘having family’ territory.” Keith flopped back down against the chair. Should he say anything about Shiro’s parents? He didn’t know much, but he knew some. “Your father’s still waiting.”

Shiro froze. “What do you mean?”

“Your mother believed the Garrison’s claims. She took your things from storage and went back to Fukuoka to mourn. Your father--your father was like Pidge.” Like Keith. “They had to ban him from the Garrison campus  _ and _ the military installations.”

“... Did you help?”

Keith stared at the metal wall behind Shiro. “I did. I wasn’t allowed near the Garrison, but I watched.”

“I still don’t know what happened there.” Shiro looked uncomfortable, but he asked the inevitable. “How the hell did you get kicked out?”

He didn’t want to talk about it. Shiro wouldn’t be satisfied with such an answer, and he knew evading would only make Shiro worried. It wasn’t that bad. It could have been worse. It’d gotten him expelled, but how did that compare to Shiro’s father living in a town nearby, harassing the Garrison with lawsuits, PIs, and a strange punk in the desert?

“I didn’t believe it was pilot error,” Keith said. “You’d flown that simulation daily with settings at a hundred combinations. Any mistakes should have been as you left Kerberos--I remember the timeline you showed me--and we knew that was going to be the most dangerous part of the mission. You’d be exhausted, the fuel stores would be low, and the wear and tear on the ship would be horrible. But you’d failed at the landing. Why? How? They said pilot error and nothing else.”

“I’m not perfect, Keith.”

You were alive, Keith almost said. Shouldn’t you be happy that people believed in you? But it was pushy, demanding, rude, and he didn’t know what Shiro was feeling at that moment. Maybe he was afraid of slavish devotion. 

Keith didn’t have that to offer him, though. “I know you’re not. You’re heavy on the controls, have a habit of misjudging velocity’s effect on occupants--including yourself--and push your instincts too hard. But you’d practiced this obsessively, Shiro, and I was your co-pilot in the sims. The Garrison didn’t say how you’d fucked up. One moment, the transmissions were fine and you were making great discoveries. The next, you’d died mysteriously, zero explanation given, no last messages provided, and a refusal to ever go back to Kerberos to scavenge the samples or your bodies.”

“So what did you do?”

Shiro sounded almost helpless. Keith shrugged and looked away. “I was angry at first. The Garrison threw you to the media’s wolves. You were suddenly too young to have been in charge of the mission. Your accomplishments were those of a prodigy, but all prodigies fucked up eventually. Anyone with a grudge against you leaked information.” Did he want to say what? If they ever went back to Earth, Shiro needed to know who’d been an ally and who’d turned on him. 

He swallowed. “It was upper command who did it first. They leaked shitty term papers, failed sims, and official reprimands. The public didn’t know those were aberrations. They just knew that the top brass had fucked up in their decision. Some accused your family of pulling strings since they were tied up in national politics.”

“Who turned after that?”

“A lot of people.” He reached out to touch Shiro but hesitated at the man’s frozen expression. “Bitter officers who’d been passed over, or you’d shown up. Your classmates who thought you’d been shown favouritism, and then my classmates who’d thought you were inappropriate--”

“How?”

It was breathless. Shiro refused to show the agony on his face, but it was clear in his eyes. “With me. They didn’t say we were romantically involved, but some people took it that way. The rest thought I was some sort of crony.”

Shiro rubbed at his nose. “And what did you do?”

“I broke into the Hive.”

“ _ Keith _ \--”

“It was an impulse thing!”

The Hive was the heart of Earth’s space missions. People from across the globe lived in the Arizona town; there were thousands upon thousands of physicists, engineers, and janitors. Every single person in Stardale had a security clearance level, even the owner of the local diner. Visitors were screened before being allowed entrance. 

The Hive, and Stardale itself, was meant to be a neutral force for exploration and expansion of Earth’s horizons. But the truth was that there was always someone trying to infiltrate or politicize, so Stardale had cordoned itself off and declared its territory neutral. It was like an embassy with no parent nation. Every citizen belonged to Stardale and their respective country. 

The Garrison was a training branch fifty miles away. Shiro had launched from Stardale, but the problem for Keith and Shiro’s father, Hisao, was that Stardale had military security while the Garrison had a lot less. Hisao had stuck to the Garrison after a few failed swings at the Hive. Keith had followed Hisao’’s lead until he gave up on answers under a mountain of legal threats. Keith had realized that he was now alone in searching for Shiro.

He wished he could say he’d torn across the desert in a quiet fury, but he’d had a can of liquid courage thrown into a several hour brooding session and then torn across the desert. He’d been sober, but the beer had loosened the rage in his chest, taking it from packed embers to spouts of flame. The Hive had the information he needed. He’d be breaking a multitude of laws, but they were lying to the world, destroying a family, and ruining a man’s life and reputation. What could have happened to Shiro, he didn’t know. Maybe Stardale had fucked up and there’d been errors in the ship’s construction. Maybe Shiro was still stranded on Kerberos because of it. Whatever it was, they’d done something wrong, and he’d find out what.

“How did you even get in?”

Keith didn’t offer a shrug this time. “I said I was a student from the Garrison bringing documents from Iverson--” Shiro’s groaned  _ Keith _ almost made him smile-- “and slipped by the reception buildings. They had my ID at the entry points, though, so I knew I was fucked. But what did it matter if I got by security, went into the main building, and hunted for the main terminals?”

“You’re lucky they didn’t arrest you.”

“They did. They found me trying to break their passwords. I’d collected everyone’s stupid sticky notes and notepads with their passwords, and I was at the main terminal room, typing each one out and hoping something gave. It wasn’t the password failures that got me caught, though. Someone had forgotten their bag of chips by their desk, and they walked in on me. I would have got in eventually.”

“This is worse than what Pidge did.”

“Dumber too. She had a plan for afterward. I didn’t. I was good at driving, sneaking around, and climbing things, so I got through. Random chance made it fall apart. They ripped me from my seat, cracked my head on the tile, and put me in cuffs. They took me from the Hive into Stardale’s station. Questioned me for twelve hours, put me in prison, and then kicked me out of the Garrison. Which, honestly, wasn’t the worst part of the day. It was probably the cold metal toilet--”

“Don’t make it into a joke, Keith,” Shiro said quietly. “You drove fifty miles and broke into one of the most defended buildings on the planet. And you got  _ arrested _ .”

Shiro had always been secretly mortified at those who got in trouble. He wore too-polished silver to Keith’s tarnished crown. “I did, and I almost ended up in court.” Shiro’s haggard expression almost made him laugh. “They threw out the charges when my lawyer bargained with them--”

“With what?”

Keith pursed his lips. He didn’t want to talk about it, but he’d brought it up. “People were being assholes at the Garrison to me. My lawyer said it was a toxic environment of harassment that the Garrison refused to fix, and so had led to my breakdown. I still have to thank your father for getting me a lawyer from Phoenix. She kept me out of prison when I was too stuck on other things to care.”

“You know what I’m going to ask.”

“You want to know about the harassment.” Shiro shrugged, miming Keith’s favourite gesture. “Okay, but you have to promise that, when we get back to Earth, you don’t do anything.” Shiro opened his mouth to speak, but Keith waved a hand. “No, I know they’re assholes. But a lot of it was encouraged by staff when I refused to shut up and it’s years past now.”

Shiro seemed to struggle with himself. “... I won’t do anything, then.”

“Good.” Keith ran a hand through his hair. “There were some who were sympathetic--mostly engineers and scientists. The other pilots, though, were angry at me for putting them in a bad light with favouritism and your supposed failure, so they took it out on me. I wasn’t good at seeing when people disliked me, but they weren’t hiding it. There were insults, a few nasty notes in the locker and under my door, and I came back from sims once to find someone had broken into my room and totalled everything I had.” Even the stuff Shiro had left him. “I don’t think I lost much by getting kicked out. Most of the piloting class tolerated me because you were around.”

“There were some who liked you.”

“Not enough to stop the rest of them.”

Shiro moved to speak but the door to the examination room opened. An armoured Galra walked in, her face hid by the same mask as everyone else. “Keith? I’m here to take samples so we can grow your eyes.” 

At least she wasn’t shy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be January 21st! Thank you so much for your patience. <3


	18. Chapter 18

Keith didn’t know how to feel about Shiro being right to his side. In theory, it was good. Comforting, even. Especially when the doctor pulled out needles. But when she harvested his tears and laid him back horizontal, he started to get uneasy. This was too much like--well, he didn’t want to think about it. His tears were because of a spray she’d spritzed into his eyes and she needed him on his back to better contain the tears. She sucked up the tears into a little tube before she settled down and drew blood. 

“How do you do the transplant?” Shiro asked. Rime shuddered in his grasp, rumbling in annoyance, but Shiro’s grip was firm.

The doctor shook one of the vials, incorporating the blood into the anticoagulant. “The eyes can be grown in four vargas. When they’re ready, we’ll put Caith under, remove the present eyes and the chips, and then put in the new ones.”

“But how?”

The doctor cocked her head to the side, her ears twitching. “Well, the Empire would use a lot of quintessence to brute force the treatment, but we’ll be using nanomachines to rebuild the nerve connections and tiny veins. There should be no harm to your vision, Caith, though the shade might change a bit. We try to keep the growing environment neutral and the DNA strands completely consistent, but nature can be willful.”

She took five vials in total before she left. That left him exhausted. He rolled on to his side and blinked lazily at Shiro. It occurred to him afterward how strange that was--inhuman, really. He didn’t stop, though. He’d committed the moment their eyes had met.

“It’s weird to think,” Shiro said, “that those eyes aren’t the eyes I knew back at the Garrison, and that these eyes are going to be replaced in a few hours.”

Keith reached up and tapped the outer side of an eye socket. “Well, you’ll hopefully have the entire of your life to adjust.” He frowned. “Though hopefully the rest of the weirdness goes.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Shiro, I  _ shed _ .”

Shiro pursed his lips. “There are brushes for that.”

“And coat scissors,” Keith said grimly. “My toiletries are things you buy at Petsmart.”

“Well, at least you don’t need chews.”

Keith made a face. “I’d like to be human again, please.”

“There should be a way to do it. Allura can even help.”

That was if Allura could tolerate being in the same room for him for that long. He tried to swallow down a yawn, but it escaped. As though echoing him, Shiro yawned too before he laughed. “You’re spreading it.”

Keith mulled over his arm. Since all Galra had some fur, they didn’t use bandaids. They instead used some sort of gel which the doctor told him would be absorbed into the skin and hair follicles. When he spoke, it was languid and sleepy. The room was cold, but his thick fur kept the worst of it away. Shiro’s flesh was tinged pink.

“I think I’m gonna nap until they take my eyes out,” he said. “It’s creepy thinking about it and I know if I’m awake for the next four vargas, I’ll get weird about it. When I’m done, I’ll meet up with you, okay?”

Shiro frowned. “But I’m not leaving?” Keith’s faint  _ huh _ coaxed more life into Shiro. “You’re getting your eyes replaced. I’d be an asshole if I left--”

“I wouldn’t think you’re an asshole. I’d think that you just… had better things to do than watch me sleep.”

The pink of Shiro’s skin darkened. “I’d be working! There are things I need to read. You can nap and I’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

“You don’t even have a tablet.”

“There are projectors built into the Paladin armour.”

Keith paused. “Wait, really? Show me.”

He’d let go of the argument, but he wasn’t sure he was right to. It was odd that Shiro was going to wait--Shiro, obsessed with achievement and time management, watching over someone napping because they were getting a not-so-routine surgery. It was mother-henning. No, that implied something familial. It was like some warrior watching over a wounded brother in old myth. At least, that’s what Shiro seemed determined to make it like.

Keith tried to ignore the feelings and thoughts. He curled up on the big chair, sighed into his forearms, and forced his eyes to close. Time came slowly. It fell over him like snowflakes. Bit of sleepiness accumulated until he was buried away, dreaming of strange colours and stranger voices. 

It was nice to let go. Red chased away nightmares with snapping jaws, and she roared at other intruders with connections to his mind. It was just Keith and a fire that warmed bare pale skin. When visions did come, they were visions of his home. Not the Garrison, not the shack, not Gal or the Castle. He was in Toronto. The smog was heavy and the shadows waited in alleys, but the lights were dotted the buildings. Cars sped by. It was a cooling summer night. The people who hurried about in shorts and skirts would find them too breezy when they left the clubs.

There was someone beside him. They were large and muscular, but pressed up against Keith’s side. He breathed in smog and the person’s musk. They spoke in a low voice, the words meaning nothing to his ears but the answers drowning him.

What was a world without stars? Humanity had talked of the universe’s death as something billions of years in the future, but it all might end by the next month. A child’s curiosity had become real; a child’s whispered fear had been fulfilled. 

He sat there and listened. There was nowhere to go, and no one waiting. Toronto was frozen, despite its heat. Above the smog, something darker than night approached; amorphous gossamer-ink floated through a vacuum, something inside it chasing life like the tides chased the beach’s sands. Arrive, arrive; recede, recede. But the tides won, just like the essence of entropy would over life. 

The most he could do was watch.

He woke to cold. A metal chair dug into his side, and he grunted before he managed to twitch. It took conscious effort to get his stiff body to work. A pair of hands took hold of his shoulders and helped him up. He opened his gummed up eyes to see Shiro before a yawn cracked his jaw. He flopped back and stretched. His spine crackled and his joints popped.

“I probably shouldn’t have slept on this,” he said.

A woman--the doctor from before--laughed. “We should have offered you a stretcher to nap in. For what it’s worth, the aches will vanish when you’re under.” Keith almost grumbled, but orderlies wheeled in a stretcher before then. “We’re going to give you some scrubs to wear and then set up an IV. Once you’re in the surgery room, we can put you under and get working.”

He hated all of it, except for the part where his stiffness would go away. Stripping off his armour was more than being naked: it was being unarmed. Strange Galra would surround his unconscious body and remove his very eyes. What if something went wrong? What if one of the Galra was a spy for the Clarion--or one who thought Zarkon would approve of Keith being blinded? It’d take one mistake with a blade and he’d never see again. 

The thoughts receded in the immediate problem of the scrubs. It was a tentish piece of cloth that went to his knees. Everything else was gone, even the undersuit he wore for the armour. It felt like the linens so popular at the Sonata Palace, except far worse.

Shiro helped him on to the stretched afterward, juggling a wriggling Rime in his arms; he’d stayed in the room, back to Keith as he tried to instil some sense of enthusiasm to the affair. “You might get cool eyes,” he teased.

Keith scowled at the world around him. “Because the purple ones weren’t cool?”

“Purple--?” Shiro blinked. “I always thought they were blue.”

“I thought it was a Elizabeth Taylor thing too, but if I’m really an alien transformed into a human, wouldn’t there be some lingering changes?”

Shiro peered down at him. “... You’re right, even if that just makes me more confused. You have purple eyes. That’s--that’s something.”

“Something, yeah.” Keith settled into the cot. It had a plush pillow, a remnant of Imperial luxury, and he pulled up a warmed blanket over his still-strange legs. “I don’t know when they’ll let me eat or drink after this, but I won’t complain if you come with a pop.”

“Do Galra even have soda?”

“If they have Mahadra Spring water and no pop, I’m going to be disappointed.”

Shiro laughed as the orderlies began to wheel him out of the room and into the halls. A pair of nurses were with him. One was poking and prodding at him, trying to find a good space for the IV, while the other spoke about how things would work. He tuned out the details. It might not have been smart in the long run, but he couldn’t find it in himself to listen to the precise cuts and snips they’d do. 

They went down the hall and then to the right. It was a series of corridors that brought them to a waiting area. The prodding nurse leapt into action to set up the IV. The cold liquid sent a chill through his arm after a few minutes. The other nurse adjusted his blanket, tucking him in to such an extent he felt immobilized.

What ensued was painful waiting. When they finally wheeled him into the surgery, he was surprised at the lack of doctors. There was a pair of surgeons--not the dozen that were usually on Earth medical dramas. A machine hung in the middle, its tip a rotating turnstile of a laser, a miniature hand, and a scope. They put him right under it.

The two doctors chatted about family life, as though their setting, equipment, and patient weren’t strange. A nurse came to his IV line and joined something to it. “Lay back,” she told him. “Relax and close your eyes. You won’t remember anything after this, but don’t panic.”

The world went dark.

When the light came back, it came through taped-shut eyelids. It was tinged violet from the skin--the dry skin that felt cold. He breathed in sterile air. His lungs struggled to expand fully. Something was tight against his chest. He shifted, but a hand landed on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” Shiro said. Keith’s groggy mind struggled to conjure up something to say, but he didn’t need to. “They want the nerves and such to adjust first. They had to use some quintessence to complete the procedure.”

“Oh,” Keith said. “Great. So I’m guessing they’re going to glow?”

Shiro was silent for a moment. “Possibly. They’re not completely certain how the dose will interact with everything. The Blades Galra ended up with gold eyes when quintessence is used, but you’re… different.”

Not that different, but he didn’t say that. He shifted on the stretcher. The IV line was still going, and he grimaced as the needle moved inside the vein. “How long has it been?”

“The surgery was two hours, and you’ve been out for another half hour.”

“What about the other Paladins? Rime?”

“I told them over the comms that we’d be awhile. And Rime’s asleep in a cage. He wasn’t happy when you left.”

Rime was fine, but the Paladins were another matter. Shiro’s mesage was an invitation for them to come find out what was happening. Keith grimaced. He couldn’t fault Shiro for it. They would have asked eventually where Keith and Shiro were. It was just that he didn’t want someone like Lance to see him as he recovered. The Blades’ treatment was harder on his body than the Empire’s, but then the Empire had likely used a gallon of quintessence to the vial or two the Blades had used.

Keith reached up to scratch at his cheek. “... If they come--”

“They won’t. I told them not to.”

Could their respect for Shiro overcome their curiosity? Keith wasn’t sure about that. Not when Keith was involved. Lance would get mulish and jealous at the time Shiro was spending with him and turn up in the hallway. He hated it all so much.

“How soon are we leaving?”

Shiro gave a soft, barely audible huff of laughter. “You’re as antsy as I am. We’ve got vargas until the base opens for travel. The doctors wanted to talk to you before you leave anyway. I don’t think anything went wrong, but maybe it’s about caring for your new eyes while they heal.”

“There shouldn’t be much to do. Zarkon gave me a pair and just sent me along right after.”

“But the Blades don’t have that kind of technology,” Shiro pointed out gently. “The Empire operates with a lot of resources, but the Blades seem to have very little.”

Which was a fair thing to point out. Keith didn’t have to like it, though--

Something banged in the hallway, and someone cursed. It was followed by a series of rapid, descending bangs. “Shiro?” Lance called out. “... Keith?”

He was knocking on every door in the hall. If Keith hadn’t been wearing the bandages, he would have sighed and closed his eyes to rub at his temples. “So much for peace,” he said.

Shiro let out a long, low hiss of exhaustion and anger. “I’ll deal with it. Just keep resting, okay?”

It wasn’t like he was going anywhere. He pulled the blanket atop him further up. It was freezing now, something probably not helped by scrubs. Sleep tugged at him, insistent as a child. He wished he could see the fallout Lance had coming. Had he brought the others with him?

That was answered when Hunk told Lance to stop making a scene. The metal door swung open; it closed behind Shiro, but that wouldn’t keep out the noise. Their voices were muffled but audible.

“Lance, I told you it was fine,” Shiro said.

Keith imagined Lance’s grin, half earnest because it was Shiro, half sneer because Keith was involved. “I wanted to make sure things were okay.”

“Don’t lie to me, Lance. PIdge, Hunk--why are you here too?”

“Because I didn’t want Lance to get stabbed by a Blade for being dumb,” Pidge said.

Shiro’s eyes would turn to Hunk, who’d shrug. “Same?”

“This is a medical facility, guys. You can’t just come in and make a scene. People are resting and recovering--”

“Why’s Keith here?” Lance asked. “If this is a hospital, something must have happened.”

Keith felt bad for Shiro. He’d meant to defend the patients and Keith, but he’d made things worse by trying to appeal to Lance’s more reasonable side. The problem was that Lance didn’t have anything like that. Lance was curious, so he was rude, and since he was rude, that knocked people off their balance so he got the answers he wanted.

“It was a minor procedure.”

Pidge made a small sound of thought. “Then why have you been here for almost a half quintent?”

“There are lots of patients--”

“Shiro, c’mon.” Lance’s voice was flat but still managed to carry a bit of a nasally whine. “We know something’s up. If Keith’s hurt, we deserve to know.”

White hot rage filled Keith. They  _ didn’t _ deserve to know. It was Keith’s private business. The issue had been fixed and the mission could continue as it was. He didn’t need someone like Lance making jokes about eyes or wondering if there were other chips inside him. He just wanted to heal and get back to work.

“No,” Shiro said. “You don’t. This is private. If you were really worried, you’d have asked over the comms. At the very least, you’d have asked if you could come. Let Keith rest.”

Mulish silence. “It’s got something to do with  _ him _ , doesn’t it?”

Him--Zarkon? Shiro spoke sharply. “Lance, I am going to order you to leave. I didn’t want to do this, but you’re not leaving me a choice.”

God, Shiro sounded like Lance’s father. It made the anger turn to a cringe. Lance was twenty by now. How was he still like this? Shiro was twenty five: he shouldn’t have to parent anyone but Pidge.

“And you’re playing favourites,” Lance said. “We’re fighting alongside him. We deserve to know what’s going on. How am I gonna trust him in a fight when he might be sick?”

If Lance had started with that, Keith might have respected the assertion more. But now, with Lance casting aspersions on both Keith  _ and _ Shiro, there wasn’t much of a choice. He hadn’t wanted anyone to find out about his eyes, but if Lance wanted to play this sort of game, Keith would gladly win. 

“Let them in,” Keith called out. Silence greeted him. “If they want to know, fine.” He’d have to apologize to Shiro after this. 

The door swung open, its hinges creaking. Footsteps thumped against the metal floors. He didn’t know their facial reactions, but he caught the low intake of breath from Hunk. Someone had already figured out what he’d needed treated. 

“What the hell is on your face?” Lance asked.

Keith let his head fall back against a cushion. “Galra don’t use bandages, Lance. That rips out fur. We use gels instead.” It was what sealed his eyes shut now.

“Why are your eyes sealed shut?” Pidge sounded nervous.

Keith let his lips quirk up. “Because they had to replace them.”

“What?”

“Are you serious?”

“Keith--”

No one sounded happy. Good. His smile didn’t fade. “I’m absolutely serious and completely honest. I didn’t want to have to tell you this because it’s uncomfortable and gross, but you all wanted to know, didn’t you?” No reply. Even better. “When I was on Central Command, a Clarion Galra took out my eyes. The Empire grew me new ones and implanted them, but not before they put in chips so they could track me.” Lance made an incomprehensible noise. “The Blades have been scrambling the signal in them since I left Gal, but we needed a more long-term solution. So they’ve grown a new set of eyes, took out my old ones, removed the chip from the sockets, and put in a new pair.”

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” Hunk said, helpless.

Pidge didn’t sound much better. “Oh my God.”

“You’re serious?” Lance’s voice came as a croak.

“Absolutely. If I was lying, I wouldn’t have gel tangled in my fur. Shiro was trying to protect all of us: me from having to share what happened, and you all from imagining the gore.” Keith tried to keep his voice neutral, but it wasn’t happening. There was a lilt of faint glee. “Are you happy to know? Or is Shiro still playing favourites and bullying you?”

“Keith.” Shiro’s voice was flat.

Keith shrugged. “This is a lesson for people, Shiro, and I think a lot of this stuff was festering.” What a smooth way to justify being an asshole, he thought. He almost admired it. “Lance, you wanted to make a statement with this--that you’re in control still, that Shiro and I are too close, that maybe I’ve got big secrets that I want to keep from you guys that’ll hurt you. Whatever your motivations are, I don’t care. Just don’t bring Shiro into it.”

The silence was a blessing that Lance interrupted. “... I’m sorry. I’ll leave--”

There were new footsteps now. The cadence and swiftness said Galran. “Paladins?” the doctor from before asked. “Is everything all right?”

“Just fine,” Keith said. “What’s up?”

The doctor paused. It reminded Keith of Central Command, a land where nothing had seemed to translate well. “I have some medical information to share with you. If you’d like, we could do it in private.”

Keith shrugged. “We can do it here.” Lance had backed down this time, but he’d get curious if he was kicked out after Keith’s speech, and who knew what he’d do after.

The doctor tapped at a tablet screen. “If you’re certain.” Keith shrugged again. A shadow stood at Keith’s side. It had to be Shiro with how large it was. The doctor cleared her throat. “As part of the process before and after the implantation, we do full body scans. During these scans, we found something… abnormal.”

His stomach twisted. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to everyone being here for it. “What’d you find?” 

“An abnormality along your spine.” She tapped at the tablet again. Maybe she was pulling up more information; maybe the tablet was projecting a diagram. “There is considerable damage at the base, as though invasive surgery was done.”

Oh God.

“We believe that there was either a cancerous growth in that section of the spine,” she said, “or there was a tail removed.”

He knew, instantly, why every adult at the orphanage had stared at him. Had whispered. Had evaded the subject of  _ why _ he couldn’t be adopted when he was young. He’d had a tail. He’d had a tail and they’d removed it. What else had he possessed?

“Were there other signs--?”

“There was prior eye surgery, I believe to remove second eyelids.”

His mother’s transformation of him to human hadn’t been perfect. He’d been a fucking freak to humans. A woman had dumped her deformed child on someone’s doorsteps and they’d sent him right to orphanage where he’d spent the following years being dissected and rebuilt into a proper human. No one had adopted him because he was still deformed, possibly wracked by genetic diseases, and the orphanage had tried desperately to make him look even a little bit human.

But they’d failed. His eyes were purple. He had Galran instincts. The food they fed him was wrong, and the way they interacted with him was wrong. He’d been a  _ child _ . He’d been confused, distressed, and unhappy his entire childhood because the orphanage had tried to make him human. He couldn’t hate the orphanage and social workers. To their human eyes, he’d been imperfect. There’d been no way for them to know he was a Galra. 

Even still, the news took a knife to his gut. He didn’t cry or sob, but took a long, slow breath of cold air. “That explains some things,” he said quietly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“It’s information you have a right to, Paladin. I also have to tell you that reconstructive surgery is possible for the tail, though it’d take many months to recover. For your second eyelids--I don’t believe there’s ever been a case where they’ve been implanted.”

Keith nodded. “I’ll think about it. I don’t know if I’ll be staying in this form.”

“We could likely do it for a human body as well.”

“I’m not sure that’s a smart idea.” Keith kept his hands still, despite their desire to investigate the injured areas. “I don’t know how humans would react. But I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, doctor.”

“It’s my pleasure, Paladin. I’ll return in a varga to remove the gel.”

Her footsteps echoed in the metal hall. Keith didn’t know what to say to the other Paladins, so he said nothing. A hand touched his shoulder, heavy and warm. Keith tried not to lean into it. 

Pidge spoke first. “I’m… really sorry, Keith.”

“Yeah,” Hunk said. “That’s--that’s a lot to take in. We knew you were a Galra, but I didn’t think of what must have happened with the transformation.” He paused. “You should have been able to hear that privately--”

“I didn’t ask you to leave,” Keith said calmly. He didn’t feel at all calm.

Hunk mulled that over. “But we didn’t give you much of a choice, did we? So I’m sorry for that.”

You were just trying to control Lance, Keith thought. He didn’t doubt there’d been some curiosity in Pidge and Hunk, but Pidge had been right that letting Lance go alone would have ended badly. Lance was an unknown outsider with a volatile temper, a carefree attitude, and a malicious streak. To a bunch of spies and rebels, Lance was a risk.

“Thank you,” Keith said. “I’m not angry, though.”

Someone shuffled uneasily. “I’m sorry too.”

Not forgiven, Keith thought. But he kept the anger and spite from his voice. “I’m not happy with you, but I’m not going to be an ass. I just… need you to start thinking less like we’re at the Garrison and more that we’re both soldiers.”

He wanted to keep going. Lance didn’t need to know everything. He didn’t need to be everyone’s favourite person. He didn’t need to be the star of every show, and maybe it was good sometimes to sit something out. Lance’s insecurity was going to get someone hurt, he thought, and not just in ephemeral things like feelings. 

“I know,” Lance said, even though he didn’t. Keith hoped Hunk or Pidge might be able to get him to use his brain. 

A yawn stretched Keith’s jaw, and he shook his head, trying to right himself. The mere sight of the yawn spurred Shiro into action. The other Paladins were sent away soon after, though Lance tried to stay to further apologize, proving he’d learned nothing. The spite in Keith felt like nails in his throat. He didn’t want to be angry, but here he was, furious. 

“Are you all right?” Shiro asked softly.

Keith frowned at the world he couldn’t see. “... No. I’m angry, but I know I shouldn’t be. Lance is  _ Lance _ . Being obnoxious and loud is what he does. And this entire eye thing--I should have said something about it long before, but I didn’t know how people would react.”

“You’re allowed to be angry.”

“But it doesn’t feel like  _ natural  _ anger. It doesn’t feel clean.”

The stretcher’s cushioning dipped as Shiro half-sat on it. “Do you want to hear what I think it is?”

That was almost a threat coming from Shiro. He was perceptive and understood people better than they did themselves. Listening could kneecap him. But he had to trust Shiro. Who else did he have?

“Yes.” The words were like ripping out thorns.

Shiro leaned in a bit, as though someone was listening outside. “I’ve noticed that the further you get from normal, the angrier you get at Lance.”

Keith couldn’t blink, but he would have if he could. “What do you mean?”

“We’re off the Castle, you’re surrounded by Galra, you need medical help for a traumatic problem, and you’re vulnerable. So you get angry at Lance--extremely angry, even to the point where you start doubting yourself. Back on the Castle, you had an impressive tolerance for Lance until he started to push you away from what you see as your humanity.”

“... So what does it all mean?”

“It means that you get so angry at Lance because it makes you feel safe. Normal. You’re back to being Keith Kogane, the guy with a short temper and sharp tongue. You haven’t done anything you shouldn’t yet, but it’s why you’re so uncomfortable with it. Part of you knows that you’re miming what you think should be said with things like ‘latrine queen’.”

“I guess that means I need to make my peace sooner rather than later.”

It was said lightly, but he didn’t feel it on the inside. Shiro’s shadow shifted. “You won’t get that peace yet, because Lance is doing the same. He’s reverting back to pettiness and rudeness because that’s the only way he’s comfortable interacting with you.” Shiro sighed. “The difference is that Lance doesn’t realize things are off yet, but he might if Hunk or Pidge talk to him.”

It wasn’t the kneecapping he’d feared, but Keith still hated it. “You’re not talking to him then.” Keith’s lips pursed. “I’m guessing because of the favouritism thing.”

“I’ve tried,” Shiro said. Keith’s brows raised. “He said it was completely normal. If he hears it from more than one person, he might wake up. You’re both better than squabbles, and he’s apologized twice now.”

Maybe if Keith apologized--but for what? He’d been a bit nasty in private, but he hadn’t done anything to Lance. The only thing he needed to do was find a better coping mechanism to feeling not like himself. One that didn’t rely on acting like a squadron’s catty queen by calling people latrine queens.

“I’ll do better,” he promised.

Shiro nudged him. “I believe you. Get some rest for now, though. You’ve just dealt with a lot.”

Keith didn’t argue about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~PROJECTED LENGTH: 5k~~  
>  PROJECTED UPDATE: February 4th 
> 
>  
> 
> PROJECTED LENGTH: 2.5k  
> PROJECTED UPDATE: ~~Feb 6th~~ February 7th since today's been pretty ???? for me


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being patient. <3 
> 
> PROJECTED UPDATE LENGTH: 4k  
> PROJECTED UPDATE DATE: Feb 23

He slept pressed against Shiro’s side. Shiro fussed with a tablet; his metal arm shifted beneath Keith, but Keith ignored the cold and hard surface. Shiro was close by. Things were safe. The chips were out and the other Paladins gone. He breathed softly; the occasional yawn forced his body to stretches, but they were small, half-done things. Every time, he settled back into the stretcher.

The doctor returned with wipes. The glue dissolved under the faint lemony acid, though it forced his eyes to a painful water. The doctor flushed them before examining his eyes with a penlight. Shiro hovered beside her.

“They’ve attached well,” she said. “The colour’s the same too, or at least close enough I can’t notice.” She leaned back, a finger tapping against her chin. “I’d say three days and your eyes will be back to normal. For now, I’m going to need you to do three things.”

Keith grimaced. “What are those?”

“Apply eye-drops every six hours,” the doctor said. “Don’t rub your eyes, even if they’re sore. And don’t stare into lights. It’ll give you the kind of migraine that’ll lay you out for a day.”

“We can get you sunglasses,” Shiro mused. “Are there painkillers in case he sees too much light? It’s hard to control all the factors he’ll face since he’s going into a warzone.”

“I can prescribe some, but he won’t be in flying condition if he takes them.”

Shiro frowned. “We can deal with that if it comes to it. What matters more is that he doesn’t end up half unconscious.” He glanced at Keith. “I can set up a system for the eye-drops. He’ll need more rest, right?”

“As much as you can give him.”

“We have several quintents. Will that be enough?”

“It’ll have to be.” She stood from her stool. “I’m going to get you a vial of quintessence. You might need it if you want him piloting sooner. Caith--I’ll give you the eye drops too.”

She kitted him out with a pouch. It had a pinky-sized vial of quintessence, a thimble of eye drops, and a miniature scanner for, she told him, if he thought something was wrong. It’d tell him if he was right and then what exactly the problem was. None of it helped his building headache, though the blister-pack of pills she handed him would.

Shiro guided him through the streets. The lights above were strong and sharp, and he kept his gaze angled downward. Shiro’s hand was on his shoulder. The loud sounds were muffled by the lingering effects of the sedatives. He wanted to sleep. How long had he been out? How long had they been in Yafva? What he knew was that Shiro wasn’t leading him back to the rooms. Rime felt heavy in his arms, even as the it stretched and purred. 

“Are we getting the others?” he asked.

Shiro brushed a hand over his shoulder. “Not yet. Lance needs time for what was said to sink in so let him stew for a bit. I’m taking you somewhere to eat. When was the last time you ate?”

Keith blinked down at Rime. He… couldn’t remember. When  _ had _ he last ate? It’d been on the Castle, of course, but that was a long while ago now. He’d maybe picked at a breakfast a quintent ago. Full meal? Probably two quintents ago.

He hadn’t even realized. Maybe that was why he felt so tired and sick. The surgery didn’t help, but they’d used enough quintessence to fuel a small ship from Earth to Gal. He’d feel fine if his body hadn’t been in trouble already. He frowned. 

“What kind of food do you want?” Keith asked.

Shiro half-smiled. “Whatever you do.”

“That’s not a helpful answer.”

“It is when my answer doesn’t matter. What do you think your body can take? I noticed you were shaking when you stood, and I remembered you just picking at breakfast. I’m guessing you were scared about what Yafva meant.”

Shiro had been paying attention that closely. Keith twisted between warm gratitude and embarrassment. How had he not noticed Shiro paying attention like that? Maybe, he reflected, it was because he was so used to people  _ not _ paying attention. Oh, his staff at the Palace would fret over his every fart and sniffle, but actually looking deeper at his moods? No, everything was seen through the lens of him as a prince and favourite.

Shiro knew he wasn’t eating and he knew it was because of the eye chips. His staff would have assumed it was just him being  _ him _ , because for months he’d only eaten berries, nuts, and cured meats, like he was some sort of trailmixetarian. It was terrifying in the wake of gratitude. Shiro knew him. Keith couldn’t hide by being distant. 

The cafeterias were empty of diners. The buffet bowls were picked over, barely enough for Keith let alone Shiro, but Shiro said nothing as he handed Keith a plate. Keith tried to leave some for Shiro and his own plate, but Shiro only showed interest in cheesy stew. The few spoonfuls looked depressing against the black slate.

Shiro talked during the meal. It was meatless chatter: notes about Yafva’s ceiling creatures, his curiosity about Rime, and how Keith’s eyes really did look the same, just as steely and strangely purple as ever. “I don’t think the surgery’s much to worry about,” Shiro said. “It sounds like a bit of rest should do the job. Though I know you’ll hate being cooped up. I can set up the flight sims and give you the sunglasses?”

“Better than staying in my room sleeping.”

“A low bar to clear.” Shiro ate the stew in giant gulps. “You won’t have to talk to any of the others.”

“You say that as though it’s supposed to please me.”

“Shouldn’t it? I’m not saying you hate them, but I think we’ve both had our fill.” He nudged Keith with his foot under the table. “I don’t know, though. Maybe you do want to eat with Lance.”

Keith remembered what Shiro had said--that there were roles being played between him and Lance--but he thought it fair to allow himself a grimace. “So I can hear him fumble an apology? No thanks.”

Shiro laughed. “Pidge and Hunk will hopefully take the brunt of the fumbling.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why they came. I told them not to.”

“Curiosity,” Keith offered, “and maybe they didn’t trust it all either. I wouldn’t be surprised. I think everyone’s still waiting for me to snap, y’know? To just turn everyone over to Zarkon. They don’t know what happened on Gal.”

Keith braced himself for Shiro to ask, but Shiro only swirled his spoon around the barren edges of the bowl and leaned back. “You left Gal,” Shiro said. “That should be what matters. If you want to share more, I know I’ll listen, but I think you lost boundaries on Gal.” He tilted his head to the side. “You feel like you’re used to people digging now, when you really should be more angry.”

“I  _ am _ angry.”

“The Keith before Gal would have ripped Lance’s head off and beat the body with it for turning up after the surgery.”

“... Maybe.” Keith ate more food. It was sour, as was the Galran style, but there were more vegetables--cheaper than meat, even if it wasn’t as nutritious for a Galra. There was more bread too, a simple energy source that didn’t require the maintenance of thousands of animals. Had the Blades adapted to use the food better, or were there physical ailments because of it?

Their meal ended as the cafeteria was piled with food for dinner. Shiro captured a trio of pastries full of meat and tried to give two to Keith. Keith only took one, and Shiro ate the others--Keith hoped that was enough to fill him for now. Shiro ate enough for two people, which wasn’t surprising as he was bigger than most people. When Keith had first seen Shiro after the Garrison escape, he’d been whittled down to muscle. Fat had been stripped from him, even the fat that was necessary for survival.

The Empire had made him into a weapon. They’d taken not just Shiro’s arm, but a sense of self and appearance. Stress had even turned past of his hair white. Even as Keith admitted an aesthetic admiration for Shiro, there remained his concern. Shiro was supposed to have pounds more fat on him. The muscle bulge had been less visible at the Garrison--even when he’d been in good shape. 

Shiro had a naturally good metabolism. The pastries wouldn’t hurt his physique. But he needed more food than Shiro would allow himself. Were the restrictions the result of the changed diet in captivity, or had he told himself everything was fine long enough that he believed it?

Not that Keith had the right to judge. His appetite had gone from utilitarian consumption to picking at food. He’d hated everything at the Palace and had never wanted to talk to others, so he’d lived on garbage. What would he look like if he was human? 

The thoughts were shoved aside when they got the sunglasses. There was a little corner shop that gave out supplies for free to residents, and one of those things was a little pair of square glasses that rested oddly on a Galran nose. Keith wouldn’t say they looked good, but they were passable, even if Shiro looked like he was going to laugh when Keith first looked at him with them on.

“If the others laugh,” Keith said quietly but tartly as they left, “I’m going to sacrifice Lance to them.”

“Oh?”

“A reminder of what he did means he’ll break, which means least attention.”

“You’ll still have to wear the glasses.”

Keith winced. “Yeah, but commenting on them will make it awkward for the others.”

Shiro laughed softly. “That’s pretty cutthroat.” Keith stiffened. Shiro gave a sharp intake of air. “I’m sorry--”

“No, don’t. You were joking.” Keith held Rime closer. It was peering out at the world, judging all that looked back and finding them wanting. “You shouldn’t have to bite your tongue. It  _ is _ cutthroat to plan like that. It’s from my time at the Empire, and I know you have things that stick with you from the coliseum. That’s why--that’s why I’ll talk to you about what I’m thinking, and that’s why I don’t want you to bite your tongue.”

Shiro walked along beside him. Keith didn’t know if he was frowning, but there were no hisses or sighs from Shiro. “... I don’t want to hurt you, even if I understand why you’re like this.”

“It’s not hurting,” Keith said. “It’s a comment on what I said. I was saying I’d sacrifice Lance for my own comfort. If that isn’t cutthroat, I’m not sure what is.”

Shiro brushed his hand against Keith’s. “I’m not going to say stuff like that to you. Whatever you want to say to excuse it, what I said is unkind.”

“Then how else would you describe what I said?”

Shiro’s lips thinned as his brow furrowed. “... Direct and minimizing stress.”

Keith laughed. “Well, that’s a soft way of putting it. I still say it was cutthroat.”

Shiro nudged him, grinning. “I won’t argue with you about it.” 

“What if I want you to?”

Shiro’s grin faltered. “What--?”

“We’re at the tarmac,” Keith said, as though that were at all smooth. His heart pounded in his chest. What had he been thinking? What did he even mean by what he’d said? There’d been something more to the words. It wasn’t the normal teasing he usually did with Shiro. 

The thoughts chased him into the Lion. It was time to leave Yafva, and Keith wished they could stay. The mission now was simple: go to the edge of the universe, measure the quintessence there, investigate the dark, and try not to go insane. What he and Allura might find could make or break the coming war. 

The Black Lion waited for them all. Keith sat with Shiro in the pilot room. The others would come as they finished their business: Allura and Coran with Shayan and Kolivan, and the others with their sulking and soothing. Rime was in Keith’s arms, snoring away, content as though the world around it hadn’t changed. He’d caught it twice peering at Shiro. Maybe they’d had a bonding moment while Keith was in for surgery. He hoped they had. Rime needed someone who wasn’t Keith to trust.

Shiro hummed something off-key as he prepared Black. Keith leaned against the metal seat. He recognized the song after a moment: he didn’t know the name, but it was a sad, silly love song about sunsets and their always-changing reds and sorrowful purples. 


	20. Chapter 20

Rime hated the Castle’s cold halls. It was used to the heat of Gal--the fields of succulent cacti, the beating suns, the heated air that ruffled its fur. The Castle was chilly and almost damp. Rime rumbled and hissed as Keith headed for the Galran quarters. Keith gave it half-hearted scolds, but he didn’t particularly care. 

He didn’t care about much, if he was honest. Things were slow and dreary. Allura and Coran were holed away combing through the Castle’s archives, while Pidge and Hunk tried to figure out the math of Outsiders. Lance was training obsessively and avoiding Keith just as much. Shiro migrated between the helmroom and his room. Keith traded off with him.

Everyone was working. Keith and Shiro piloted the Castle while Regris and Ulaz communicated with Yafva. Any sense of joy had vanished. It was like the Outsiders had already descended on them and swallowed the ship. Keith found it hard to smile. They were going straight to the edge of the universe to face creatures of void.

God, what were they thinking. It wasn’t like they could run, but why would this time be any different? Billions of people had failed. Entire branches of the Altean royal family had died to night sickness. Keith had fumbled his way through quintessence manipulation, and if the Voice hadn’t been so deluded about how amazing he was because of his mother, he’d have failed.

And Allura wasn’t even trained. She knew the basics, but she’d acknowledged in a Castle meeting that her experience had been in the form of tutors teaching theory. Alteans usually learned quintessence manipulation in their third decade at earliest. Learning earlier risked getting lost in the rapids of quintessence. What of the Druids? Keith had asked

She’d shook her head. “Galra are different,” she’d said quietly. “We didn’t know it was possible for Galra to use quintessence. Maybe they don’t see it like we do--maybe they take to the speed better, or their senses are dulled.”

It’d surprised Keith to see her present an option where the Galra might be better than Alteans at something. He’d expected a grimace or half-hid sneer, but she’d looked apprehensive and thoughtful. It was the first indication that the mission might not be completely screwed. If he and Allura worked together, maybe they could fumble something out. 

It was the ideal, wasn’t it? Altean knowledge, Galran instinct; Altean patience, Galran power. Allura knew the theory and Keith knew what it felt like to use quintessence. By their powers combined, they probably made around an experienced acolyte. Not great, not good, but they’d have to make due. What concerned him most was something he didn’t care to think about but shadowed him like a ghost. 

What was night sickness? Was it like the void plague that travelled from planet to planet and so infected people--or was it something else? There was a reasonable concern that the sickness might not be from the Outsiders and void but from the mind breaking under the weight of nothing. How could any sapient creature fully understand a nature of nothing? If physics was consistent, the void could go on forever. No light. No end. Forever coming closer. He’d heard of people going mad in the Arctic before. This was a thousand times worse. It was like going to the bottom of the ocean with no lights and waiting for the monsters to arrive.

The thoughts sent thrills of unease through him which only made him circle downward. If he was already uneasy and frightened, what would he be like in the dark? Red came to him when his thoughts became a shade of black. She’d purr against him as Terava came in his dreams. She’d take him through her homeland on wings that didn’t belong to him. It was another experience where his body no longer matched his soul, but he didn’t complain. Not when he remembered the first dream about the dark. 

The Castle’s ability to wormhole through space turned a two week journey into three days. On the first, they were in inhabited territory--not of Galra, but of tributary races. The races turned a blind eye to any energy flares from the wormholing, though that didn’t mean the Castle could remove the invisibility shielding that’d been constructed. 

That day had been exhausting for everyone. Allura had directed the wormhole while Coran, Pidge, and Hunk worked furiously to keep the Castle intact from the rapid travel. The Blades had watched for communications. Keith and Shiro had ended up at the helm, helping Allura. Rime had bounced at their feet, skittering away whenever someone reached down to shoo it.

“It’s strange looking,” Pidge had said during dinner the second day. “It’s like a dragon.”

Keith had smoothed ruffled feathers on its back. “It eats cacti.”

“Why does it have wings?” Lance asked between mouthfuls of stew.

“Because they jump from gnawed holes in the skin.”

Rime had purred as Keith slipped it vegetable goo. Its little tongue reminded Keith of a lizard’s. The scene hadn’t endeared Rime to the others. Shiro didn’t seem to mind the dendin, but it was a wild animal. It snapped at Pidge’s hand when she tried to touch its head. When Lance tried to feed it, it hissed. Allura kept her distance, so Rime had no opinion on her. It allowed Hunk to get close, though; Keith suspected it was because Hunk approached it slightly crouched, and because Keith didn’t tense when Hunk came close.

Shiro, though. Rime liked Shiro. Not like a dog or cat liked someone: Rime snapped at Shiro, hissed, and fluffed up when it reared at his approach. But it would slither around Shiro’s feet and climb up his pant leg. When Shiro reached down to pry Rime off, it’d nip at his fingers--not try to chomp on them like Lance’s. If Keith handed Shiro Rime, Rime would squirm and writhe and scratch and then when it was put down, it would charge Shiro and headbutt him.

It was weird. It wasn’t bad, though. What was bad was the nickname Disney Princess Keith from Lance. He pretended not to hear it. There was no victory in arguing.

Day two was devoted to recharging the Castle’s energy stores. Allura had taken to bed, exhausted by the quintessence used, and the repairs demanded even the Blades’ hands work. Keith found himself handing out wrenches and laser soldering tools like he was some sort of vending machine. Rime curled up in an empty toolbox as Keith ferried everything about. He went to sleep early that night. 

Day three was the worst. It was like an executioner setting up the blade. Keith spent the day trying to pull up his quintessence abilities. He’d always used them in times of emergency: doing it in the quiet of the Galran quarters, in the room of the former security guard, was not helpful. He breathed slowly, timing it to seconds. The hoped meditation turned to a glum reverie. 

He gave up after two hours. With Rime in his arms, he flopped on to the pillowy bed and buried his face in its feathers. It released a heavy sigh. “I know,” he said into its wam noodle body. “You live a hard life.”

Feelers prodded at his ears. Little teeth followed as it began to chew. That got Keith to pull away. “How am I supposed to do this?” he asked as he wiped at his ear. Dendin spittle was sparse: they ate hydrated cactus flesh, and water was difficult to spare for enzymes. No, dendin seemed to chew the food to mush and then let the body harvest what it could. 

Why did he care about this? His mind had caught on dendin eating habits like a hook on a net. His nose wrinkled. There was something to it. His mind was idling away, producing fragments of information that might be gold if the viewer looked beyond the coal-dust tarnish. 

Dendin didn’t have much spit and so few enzymes in the mouth. They made up for it by chewing heavily. They ingested the mushed mass and drank from the liquid inside the mush. What did that mean for him and quintessence? 

Take what you can. Don’t give anything back. Eat and eat and eat until he was almost overloaded and then sit back and digest. 

Those were stupid ideas. It’d be a good way to get himself killed. No, he needed to take it slow. Piece by piece. Little bites that he could digest and infuse into his body. A halo of gold--not eyes of solid yellow. 

That didn’t help him reach out to quintessence. He hadn’t done any manipulation in what felt like an eternity, but had been less than a week. If he focused yet relaxed, if he breathed but found the moment of silence between, maybe he could find the link. Red prowled inside him, waiting. Terava said nothing.

In, out. In, pause, out. His heart thumped in his chest. In, pause, out. In,  _ pause _ \--

Gold, gold, gold. His eyes fluttered. He reached inside, grasping for the energy that kept him alive. What was quintessence? It was a heart’s beat and the faint electricity in a body. If he grabbed on to the pumping of his heart, he could find something. He closed his eyes and conjured a vision of gold.

It came to him as a faint taste of copper and bitterness. Warmth brushed against him. His heartbeat quickened. He breathed out and when he breathed in, gold dusted his tongue. He had it now. It was abundant and bright. He could be like a dendin, and there’d be no consequences beyond a cultivation of bad habits. But those bad habits would cost him in the Dark.

He took the gold and wove it into a net. It was light and airy with a warmth of spiced apples and fire. His fingers twitched, as though actually doing the task, but only his mind knew the steps. When he opened his eyes, a net draped over his open-palmed hands. It was the size of a pillow and light as a feather. He tugged at the corners. The weave was tight enough to hold even when he pulled hard enough for his muscles to strain. When he stopped, it was to turn to the side and throw the net on Rime.

Rime bolt upward, hissing and spasming, clicking furiously. Green eyes pinned him with a glare. Tiny wings fluttered, sending the light net upward. Rime tried to squirm down into the mattress and out from the net, but the net tangled on its many little legs and soon Rime had rolled on to its back, as though resigned. Keith tapped the golden cord. The quintessence dissipated.

The quintessence manipulation wasn’t like introducing the current Paladins to the original five. This was brighter, less exhausting, almost exhilarating. Guiding Lance and Shiro had been like dragging a sled of stone behind him. What was the difference? He was still using his own quintessence. Black had told them that, with the Voice gone, there was no other source available. Why did he feel more energetic, then? Maybe it was the burst of energy from being drained: just enough to get him free from danger so he’d crash later on.

He decided to go with that. There weren’t a lot of other options. He flopped on the bed and prodded Rime in the side. It sighed and then snorted before it turned away from him. That didn’t dim his grin. There was something fun about teasing Rime. It lived in a permanently annoyed state but somehow still liked him. It put it in a very small minority. He spent the next hour grooming Rime, much to its pleasure. There were bent feathers, chipped nails, and grime around its eyes from so long away from him.

“You’re messy,” he told it. Rime replied by nipping at the comb’s teeth. 

Keith ate a simple meal that night. Rime was given a bowl of tropical fruit while Keith filled himself on meat. He still wasn’t tired, strangely. It was even hard to fall asleep that night. He found himself wandering the halls, musing on the feasibility of dendin socks. Rime would love to run around the Castle after so long stuck in his arms, but its birdish feet would get too cold on the metal and tile. Soft socks would help, but all that thought conjured in his mind was an image of Rime doing the same stupid walk dogs and cats did in socks.

He trained that night--not where Lance was spinning around, pretending to be Bruce Lee, but at the sims. He needed to be the best pilot he’d ever been. Allura would likely be in Red with him at some point. The reality was that Keith was replaceable. He didn’t meant it in a self-hating way, but that another Red Paladin could be found. Less so could an Altean royal.

_ That’s not true _ , Terava said.

Keith juked between comets. “And that’s not how I meant it.”

_ So how did you mean to say that you could be replaced easily? _

“I know you like me, but a soldier is a dime a dozen. If I die, they’ll find another Red Paladin to take up the mantle.” He let his voice soften. “I know it wouldn’t be easy on anyone, but I think--I think it gives me comfort to know that I can be replaced.”

_ Does it? _

“I’m not lying, Terava. It means I’m not important. It means that everything I do doesn’t have to be for only the war.”

_ There are healthier ways to cope with that, Keith. _

He shrugged. “This is how I deal with it. It’s comforting that the weight of everything doesn’t rest on me. If I fuck up, there’ll be another chance.”

_ Do you think they could do as good a job as you? _

Keith frowned. “I do a good job, sure, but I know you’d pick the next Red Paladin to be just as good, if not better.”

_ I spent ten thousand years rejecting people, Keith. _

“Because they wouldn't turn against Zarkon.”

_ Some would have. _ Keith stiffened.  _ Oh, they’d have turned on him if they knew the truth. I could see it in their minds. The problem was that they weren’t good enough. They’d die if they fought against Zarkon.  _

“You had no proof I wouldn’t.”

_ Didn’t I? You came to me and declared yourself Paladin. You were just another arrogant soldier then. But you were willing to protect me, even if your power was a fraction of mine. I looked into you, Keith, and knew that you were the best choice I’d had in ten thousand years. We don’t have another ten thousand years for me to find someone. _

“You’re speaking like you’re Red,” he said carefully. “But you’re Terava. What are the lines between you two?”

_ Amorphous. Flexible. Red itself is more than AI, and that difference became more extreme when I joined her.  _ He almost heard her sigh.  _ My choice of Paladin is Red’s choice and vice versa. You are what we chose: Red saw your piloting skill, but I saw your fire. _

His skin prickled. “Don’t make me into a hero.”

_ Aren’t you? Destroyer of the Voice, Paladin of Voltron, ally to the Blade of Marmora, and leader of a rebellion. You’re going to the Dark to do things no one in history has done, and I know you’ll succeed. _

“Too much faith.”

_ And you have not enough. You’re preparing for a disaster and reassuring yourself that inevitable failure will only take away what you love--and leave everyone else alone. You dying, Keith, would be the kind of disaster the rebellion would not recover from in time. So I tell you, as your Lion and predecessor, that you need to value your life and mind more. Allura is important, but if you sacrifice yourself for her, you’ll have accomplished nothing. _

“... It’s in fashion to really lay into me, isn’t it?” He tried to keep his voice light, but there was a jagged edge inside him.

_ Because you can be incredibly hard to get through to. I’ve been with you this entire time, and you’re a turtle. _

“Are you comparing me to Zarkon--”

_ Haha. I’m being serious, Keith. You shut down when stress comes, and you ignore everything outside your shell. You focus which would be fine if you ever dealt with the fire raging around you. The others don’t know what happened to you. Maybe they never will. But I do, and I know you’re hurt. You’ve barely licked your wounds. Eventually, they’re going to get infected. _

Things clicked. “You’re afraid of the night sickness and my… wounds.”

_ I am. The void breaks people. I’ve been into the Dark once. It was for ten minutes, and I came out shaken for the next week. I’ve seen people fall to insanity in the Dark, including some Paladins. There’s a reason people stopped investigating or going there. Only Allura, Coran, and Zarkon remember that. Those who’ve seen the recordings you do have only an inkling. _

She seemed to sigh.  _ I’m going to help you as I can. Being part of Red lets me numb the impact of the Dark. But it’s been a long time since I’ve seen such personal and untreated wounds. I refused to let that one near the Dark, but you have to go. If you’re going to do this, I want you to promise me three things. _

“It’s always three things,” he muttered. “I’m listening.”

_ You’re going to be in constant contact with me while you’re in there. You’re going to stop devaluing your life. And finally, you’re going to talk to someone about what’s happened to you. Preferably Shiro. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be March 5th! In the meantime, you can find me at twitter.com/AJORinn where I'm tweeting about fan stuff and original projects coming out this year. :3


	21. Chapter 21

The Diyor came in contact as the Castle approached the edge of the universe. It wasn’t an open message--that would have earned attention--but instead, it was a dribble of sighs and murmurs. Ulaz and Regris talked as though that made any sense; maybe it did, but to Keith, it was like listening to whale song. When the two Blades came to the rest of them, it was with a firm stride and grim looks. 

“The distraction’s in place,” Ulaz said. “We’ll be going in alongside the Fresv. The ship has newer officers--more impulsive ones. When the distraction happens, it will send them behind a cluster of stars to investigate. The Diyor’s set up a series of beacons to confuse their search. By the time the Fresv return, the Diyor will have arrived to chastise them.”

“And secure the Diyor’s place better,” Regris said, “while dissuading them that there were ever any rebels in the sector. The Diyor’s estimated the time frame. At most, we’ll have three vargas; at worst, we’ll only a varga and a half. Princess, Keith--I don’t know how quintessence manipulation happens. Will that be enough time?”

Keith glanced over at Allura to find her looking at him. She wore a mirroring grimace. That was his reassurance for the mission, he mused. Allura had the exact same doubts as him. If they got nothing, neither of them would be angry or surprised. Maybe that could be their future alliance: resignation and a prayer that something might turn up golden.

“We’ll make it enough time,” Allura said. “... Keith, we should discuss our plan in private.”

Keith did not like that idea, but they were going to be in the same Lion for vargas, potentially, and they needed to work through the gap between them. So he nodded and, after Ulaz and Regris fully explained the math and science behind the distraction, he followed Allura’s lead into the hall and a nearby room. She wore a gown, while her hair was in a loose braid. She looked regal--not in how Zarkon played at dignity in public, but a louder regalness, one that spoke of faeries and elves. The ears helped the impression.

Lance tried to sneak after them. He wasn’t dumb enough to try to enter the room, but he lounged down the hall, not-so-subtle looks being shot at where they entered. Allura firmly closed the door on him. It sealed out the sound of engines and air conditioning. 

The room they were in fit a series of cushioned chairs and couches. “They were for diplomats,” Allura said as she poured herself a cup of tea from a dispenser. “Waiting rooms, really, for speaking to the captain. Take a seat wherever you please.”

Was there a right answer on where to sit? He had only seconds to judge. There was a mid-level table of white wood while the chairs were upholstered in gossamer blue. He chose a couch that faced a pair of armchairs. A coffee table waited between them. When Allura came, she held a pair of pastries.

“Hunk’s work,” she told him. “I don’t know what tea you’d care for.” She paused. “Or if you like tea.”

“I’m not really big on hot drinks.” He took the pastry. It was a danish, folded with an expert hand; its insides smelled of peach-apple while nuts that reminded him of apricots were embedded over its top. “... What kind of teas do Alteans drink?”

“I can’t speak for Melsanae, but I grew up with fruit teas and  _ kalfa _ bark. The fruits were good for digestion, and  _ kalfa  _ is good for waking up.” She placed her tea cup on the table. The little plate it was on clicked against the wood. “We’re both trying to escape the inevitable, aren’t we?”

Keith grimaced. “I don’t know where to even start with the Dark.”

“I do,” Allura said, “but I have no idea how to actually do it.”

“That’s what I’m here for, though, right? You know what needs to be done, and I can brute force it.”

Allura laughed softly. “I was listening to the Blades’ plan, and I couldn’t help but think that they were hopeful about the two vargas. No, I think we’ll have one at most. The Ga-- _ Empire _ values discipline. The Fresv will only stray for a short time. If they think it’s actually something to worry about, they’ll contact their commander.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“So we need to be in and out faster than those thirty minutes.” Allura contemplated Keith. “Quintessence is like water.” He raised a brow, but she raised a lone finger. “It flows to fill in gaps. There is a finite amount of quintessence as life itself is finite, but even now, I can feel it in the spaces between atoms. Less brilliant than it once was, but it should still be doing what our alchemists theorized. Quintessence flows in the universe with strange tides and waves, and sometimes this leads it to the Dark. Before the Voice, the losses were negligible. A few grains of sand in the hourglass at most.”

She sighed. “So around the Dark, alchemists would see quintessence vanish. That was the most basic surface reading. A little deeper, and there were little particles. What those were, I have no idea. Any alchemist who tried to get to that granular level found the Dark pulling them in. We had to stop sending them just because alchemists were also a finite resource. I suspect--and I am not an expert, mind--is that the information we’re after is those particles. Those are what I believe byproducts of Outsiders and the Dark eating at reality.”

Keith’s brows rose. “Did your people know?”

Allura shook her head. “The theories I heard on Altea were that they were microscopic Outsiders or the little beasts eating at reality. I wouldn’t have thought of waste until I encountered you and the Voice.”

“Uh--”

“That came out poorly.” She buried her face in her hands and sighed into them. “You’ve humanized the Voice to me. The Outsiders were always  _ it _ . It attacked a planet. It entered the Roya system. I thought the Voice’s glorification was simple propaganda: she wasn’t she, because Outsiders had no gender and no thoughts beyond consuming everything around them. But you said she liked you and that’s how you got close enough to destroy her. It reframed my thinking. If they weren’t simply strange, dark forces, what if they had more similarities to us than I thought? Not Altean or human or Galran, but their own strange biology.”

“... Brilliant thinking, but I’m mostly glad you don’t associate me with feces.”

Allura laughed. It wa a relieved sound. “No--no. We have our problems, but I don’t--not like that.” She shook her head. “You’re clever and angry and sad and cold, and looking at you sends unease through me because I know what your face is supposed to be like, but I also know it isn’t fair to you to expect you to look human. I’ve learned that from you, and from Lance’s mistakes.” She glared down at her tea cup. ”I don’t hate you. I’m learning not to hate the Galra. The Blades have worked for centuries to fight Zarkon, and they’ve helped Melsanae as they can. I don’t think I can ever love Imperial Galra; the banners they love flew as Altea was destroyed. But Ulaz? Regris? They’ve been nothing but kind, damn them both.”

There was no ire to the words. Just emptiness and a bit of resigned amusement. Keith kept still. “You won’t look at me because of my appearance.”

“I know it’s not fair.” She sounded miserable. “Coran’s spoken to me, as has Shiro and Shayan. Shayan told me that you tried to help him at the Palace. You tried to save Keyka, didn’t you? And that’s something human Keith would have done, so the soul of you isn’t lost.”

That was the come to Jesus moment, then. Shayan had mentioned Keyka. She’d been struggling with her feelings and thoughts and then Shayan had come down from on high to deliver proof--from an Altean mouth--that Keith wasn’t a lost cause. It hurt. She should have believed him for what he said and for who he was. Her faith in Alteans was dangerous. What if some of the Lions faction got to her, or she encountered an Altean commander in the Galran army?

Alteans were idealized. Most had died heroes or martyrs--but there’d been some Alteans among the Empire, hadn’t there been? He thought he remembered Zarkon saying that. Most had died, some had been defectors, and the rest had been marched on to Melsanae. How could he tell her to be careful? He was still the enemy, in a way, but it was imperative that she love her people while understanding that they didn’t shit gold and piss silver. For all he knew, there’d be an Altean traitor along the patrol lines and they’d encounter them.

He breathed. One thing at a time. “I did try to help Keyka,” Keith said. “I understood that Keyka’s planet might be in danger of harvesting, and I tried to help Shayan in his work.” He leaned back on the couch. He didn’t want to seem aggressive. “But Allura--I don’t want to ruin this. Shayan is working with the Blades.” Even if Keith suspected he didn’t have their interests at heart. “There are other Alteans that are not. You know some sided with Zarkon.” She stiffened. “We’re going to run into one some day, and I know it’s going to hurt you. I don’t expect you to come to me and spill your heart because this is--awkward. Tense.”

“I know not all Alteans sided with their own people, Keith.”

“But you needed one to point out that I was still  _ me _ . I don’t want to take away your bond with your people--you just found out that you’re not one of the two left--but I’m scared that if you run into a traitor, it’s going to hurt you more than me changing ever did.”

How badly had he fucked up by bringing it up? Allura’s hands had folded together. Her chin rested in them, hiding her mouth. Her ethereal blue and pink eyes stared down Keith’s danish. “... I’m listening.” Keith’s eyes widened. “I don’t think I put my love for my people over my common sense, but maybe--maybe I need to take a step back and look at things. I do believe that helping Keyka says more than any words about who you are, but maybe I should have listened more closely to you and Shiro.” Her eyes were glassy, but she didn’t shed tears. She cleared her throat and straightened. Her eyelids fluttered, wiping away the beading tears. “I don’t want pity, but I’m still adjusting, even a year later. And I think I took some of that out on you. I’ll put aside Shayan’s thoughts and opinions on you: I promise that I’m listening to you, Keith, even if that means removing myself from the comfort of others’ opinions.” She shook her head. “... We’ve veered off topic.”

“Off topic,” Keith said, “but productively so. I was speaking to Red and she was nervous about us going into the Dark. Clearing up a bit of conflict and tension should help, right?”

“It certainly can’t hurt.” 

The planning from there was simple. Allura seemed eager to touch on other topics than genocide, traitors, and blindspots, and Keith was just as happy to hurry after her. He’d put himself out there, unable to really understand what his problem was beyond a fear that he was being defined by others. Shayan had likely meant perfectly well, and Allura was right to have taken it as a good sign of Keiths intentions. But it was as he spoke of quintessence manipulation that the truth occurred to him. 

He was afraid of Allura relying on others’ opinions because Keith had done that. He’d listened to Thace about how Wrin was redeemable and should be saved, and he’d mutilated and killed Adran because of it. He’d heard that Volux really cared about people in secret, and that’d blinded him to how ugly their feud would be. Volux hated Keith now, and Keith could never go back to those easy, thick-hided interactions. He’d been influenced by so many people--Zarkon, Hyladra, Kymin, Thace, Wrin, Volux, his staff at the Palace--that he’d mired himself deeper and deeper into a pit of confusion, distress, and self-sabotage. If he’d been clear-headed, he’d have escaped months before he did with a third of the trouble. 

He didn’t want Allura to be tricked and manipulated. She rightfully loved Alteans: they were of her culture and history and family. But that left her open to subtle attack. What if a traitor Altean came to her and quietly distracted her, or entrapped her in one scheme or another? Keith had experienced something similar, and it’d destroyed parts of him that he didn’t know how to salvage. So maybe it was good that he’d said something, even if he hadn’t explained it well. Allura was listening and thinking about it. If a traitor ever came, she’d hopefully have Keith’s words echoing still in even a corner. 

Allura was brilliant--smarter than Keith, really. She’d understand what he’d fumbled through, right? He didn’t mean she shouldn’t distrust him or that she should hate him. He wanted her to be able to look at him and see what through clear eyes who he was--not an ally of Shayan, a martyr, a traitor, or anything else. Just a dumb, ignorant, and naive soldier who liked to go fast.

The plan they developed wasn’t easy. It was a combination of Allura’s science and knowledge and Keith’s endurance and experience. Keith would capture the particles in quintessence and transfer them to a containment unit that Allura knew how to use. They would go the Dark together, and Allura would enter Keith’s mind with him as they traversed the pathways in the quintessence. A timer would be going--just a buzzer that Allura’s physical hand would rest against and whose buzz would alert her when the ten minutes as up. 

By then, they’d have used almost thirty minutes. The next ten would be spent probing the Dark itself. They would go out and experiment on its effect on the mortal body. Mostly, it’d be Keith floating around as Allura waited in the hangar, monitoring the cable that tethered Keith to the Lion and monitoring the area around them for Outsiders. Fifteen minutes gone after that.

Three tasks, and they’d be at forty-five minutes. The remaining fifteen could be used to survey the quintessence paths again or if they needed to bail early. Allura had taken notes, not that Keith could read them; as she wrote, she explained theories and concepts with the ease of any tutor. It was a crash course in alchemy, and he wondered, really, how far along she was. She insisted on calling herself a novice, but part of it felt like modesty. She’d loved alchemy like Keith loved flying. The only difference was that she’d never been allowed to actively use quintessence.

When he mentioned that, she’d laughed and shrugged. “Age is odd among Alteans. I am technically an adult, but one considered to be too young to hold court or open the senate.”

Which opened a whole new world to him. Altea had been ruled by a monarchy, but it’d been tied within law after law. The people voted, and the people guided, but everything came back to the crown. King Alfor declared war and gave approval to the budget. Vast swathes of land had been crown holdings: some had been leased to the public, but entire forests had been conserved and exploited as the royals needed. Allura had been born to a queen and king, and she’d been raised to rule. Math, science, literature, history--she’d been dancing as soon as she could walk and calculating physics equations since she could write.

It was a carefully cultivated education that Keith thought had left Allura with blind spots. Trickery, abuse, mutilation of the spirit, desperation--for Allura, the spectre of those had appeared only when Zarkon turned on the universe. Keith’s earliest memories were of disdain, abandonment, and overt suspicion. Those around him had known he wasn’t natural. Maybe that made him better suited to what he’d experienced. Allura’s experiences of tragedy and unhappiness were like those of thunder and earthquakes; Keith’s was a quiet poison. They could help each other see the other side. He could warn her of seeping self-hate and delusion, and she could have a vision, fuelled by anger and righteousness, that he could believe in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update is the 22nd! I will see you all then. <3


End file.
